The Night of the Deadly Codename
by LuckyLadybug
Summary: Direct sequel to The Night of the Time Travel. "Beware of Codename Pinto." That is the message Jim and Arte find when they return to 2012 to try to capture Miss Posey and her gang. Instead they become swept up in a deadly game of espionage and undercover spies. And right in the center of it all is a man other than Miss Posey's Pinto who uses the same alias. Does the note mean him?
1. Chapter 1

**The Wild Wild West**

**The Night of the Deadly Codename**

**By Lucky_Ladybug**

**Notes: The characters from the show (and other shows) are not mine. Any remaining characters and the story are mine! This is a direct continuation of the timeline begun with _The Night of the Lazarus_ and _The Night of the Time Travel_. While it would probably be a good idea to have read those stories first, I will try to explain the basic plot of the timeline within the early part of this story, for those who would rather just dive in. And one important note for this story: joining the main cast from the first two stories is a mysterious fellow I'm calling Lucius. He's from the episode of _The Fugitive_ entitled _Masquerade_, and he's listed in the cast as Pinto. Considering that he shares several traits with the _Wild Wild West_ Pinto (even the actor!), I found that far too amusing to pass up.**

**Chapter One**

_**Somewhere in the Midwestern United States, circa 2010**_

It was amazing, how much everything in one body could and did hurt all at once. As he regained consciousness, his body flatly informed him that pain was going to be a predominant factor in his life for the next indeterminable amount of time. And as he turned and blearily spied an unfamiliar older man standing over his bedside, he suddenly wondered how long his life was going to be.

"What is this?" he mumbled. His mouth and throat felt like sandpaper. "Who are you?"

The man held up his identification, at the same time saying, "I believe a more proper question at this time would be, Who are _you?_ We have no record of you in our files. And your fingerprints are drawing a blank with the police."

His lips curled in a smirk. "Pinto. That's all you're getting out of me."

The older man's only response was a slight lifting of the eyebrows. "That's an unusual codename."

"Maybe I like horses. Or the beans." The injured fellow smirked more, enjoying the level of confusion he was creating.

"Maybe you do. However, one thing we know for certain that you like is apples. You left quite a trail of them all the way back to your motel room. A room where, I might add, you registered as Lucius Bowen."

A shrug. "So?"

"So, Mr. Bowen, I should inform you that you were picked up by the local police following your failed attempt to kill a Mrs. Leonard Hull. Due to your injuries from being attacked by her mysterious protector, you were brought to the prison ward of the nearest general hospital. And that is where you came to the attention of my organization."

Lucius's lip curled. "And just why is your organization so interested in a common hired gun? I took a job for Buddy Blackburn; that's all. Isn't that a little low-key compared to what your people usually deal with?"

"Ordinarily, yes. But not when Mr. Blackburn is not only an established kingpin of organized crime, but also a notorious agent of the international crime syndicate that my people so often tangle with."

Lucius had trained himself not to reveal what he was thinking. But on this occasion his eyes flickered. "I guess it figures that you of all people would know about that."

"Yes. And it's safe to say that Mr. Blackburn is now aware that you've fallen into our hands."

Fear flashed through Lucius's brown eyes. "He'll kill me!" he exclaimed. "I wasn't supposed to know about his spying, but I found out by accident and he knows it. He only left me alive because he had more work for me to do right then. But now he'll take out another contract, this time on _me,_ and someone will come sneaking right into this hospital to take me out!"

"That's no doubt what he'll _want_ to do and most likely will _try_ to do. But, Mr. Bowen, that's why I've come with an alternate proposal for you."

"You want me to testify against him, just like the local police," Lucius sneered. "Only you want me to tell about this other life of his, the one that your people are after him for. Well, sorry. That's not going to happen. I wouldn't live to reach the courthouse. And don't give me that song-and-dance about police protection. They're not able to save every witness that comes along."

"That's true. No, what I have in mind is something markedly different." The visitor paused, deliberately, and Lucius fixed him with an expectant stare.

"Well? You've got my attention. Tell me what you're after."

Without hesitation the older man said, "Tell my men all that you know about Mr. Blackburn and his exploits into international espionage. Help them bring him down. In return, you will be kept safe from Blackburn's men, but not by being under police protection or even the watchful eye of my organization. Instead, you will be hidden from them right under their very noses.

"As distasteful as it is, there are times when men with your . . . _skills_ are needed on our side, too. Come and work for me."

Lucius stared at him. "You have _got_ to be kidding."

The visitor's eloquent speech pattern developed an edge. "I've never been more serious. Right now, Mr. Bowen, you are our only link with Mr. Blackburn's espionage activities. Mr. Hull has no idea of this aspect of his former employer's life. And Mr. Blackburn, as well as all of the men who work with him on these matters, must be stopped. Bringing down his organized crime rackets will not halt the spying."

Lucius looked away and shook his head. "So I'm your only hope, eh? Oh brother, are you in trouble. What makes you think you can trust me from here to that doorknob?"

"Quite frankly, I don't know that I can. I can only hope, due to the efficiency with which you likely handle yourself on your . . . . assignments. Mr. Blackburn doesn't hire anyone he considers inferior or incompetent. If you're paid well enough, you should be willing to extend the same efficiency and loyalty to us as you did to Mr. Blackburn."

"You can't tell me the local police like this idea."

"Not in the least. But I've managed to impress upon them some of the magnitude of what we're faced with. I doubt very much that Mrs. Hull was your first target, and it's certainly true that I find your kind repugnant. However, what's happening behind the scenes on the espionage front is so much bigger than one contract killer. Whether the local authorities like it or not, whether _I_ like it or not, I have had to come to you with this proposal."

Lucius frowned. "I can always turn you down."

"If you refuse," was the calm reply, "I will see to it that you remain in the custody of the local police. And as you yourself admitted, Mr. Blackburn is likely already seeking to bring about the end of your life. I cannot guarantee your safety if you stay here."

"You can't guarantee it anywhere else, either," Lucius muttered.

"You're right, of course. But you would stand a better chance with us. Even if Mr. Blackburn suspects that we have you, he could never imagine that it would be as an agent."

"I couldn't imagine it, either." But Lucius paused, mulling over the problem in his mind. ". . . How much time do I have to decide?"

"You can surely answer that question yourself, can't you? If you think an assassin may already be on his way . . ."

"Alright, alright!" Lucius held up a hand for silence and then winced as he pulled an already-sore muscle. "I'll help you. Maybe I'll even work for you. Just get me out of here."

The older man nodded, pleased. "Done."

"And . . . one more condition to this deal."

A stern look. "And what, might I ask, is that?"

Lucius slowly smirked. "All the apples I can eat?"

His visitor rolled his eyes Heavenward. "Oh, good Heavens, man." But he gave a curt nod. "Yes, you may buy as many apples as you like. You'll be given a regular salary, the same as any other agent."

Lucius leaned back. "Fine. You know, I come from a long line of career criminals. I never thought I'd ever end up working for the good guys."

"Up until the very moment I spoke, I struggled with whether to even extend the invitation," was the sighed response.

"You must be really desperate for what I can tell you."

"That would be putting it mildly. It's not an exaggeration if I tell you that the entire fate of the world could hang in the balance."

Lucius considered that and nodded. "Have me taken out of here and we'll talk," he said. "I'll tell you now, you might be right about that 'world' bit."

_Los Angeles, California, December 2012_

Coley Rodman kept alert as he roamed the extensive grounds of the Oak Bridge Golf Club. He had left the golf cart somewhere back on the green; he grew restless if he rode in it for too long. For the most part he preferred to walk.

The events of the last few weeks still seemed unreal to him. Two months earlier, he had still been an outlaw on the run for his life in 1874. Then Secret Service agent Jim West had apparently been killed in an explosion and Artemus Gordon had believed Coley responsible. Coley had teamed up with Arte to find the real culprits. In the process they had discovered that Jim was alive and that a mad scientist was reviving all of the notorious Lucrece Posey gang. And while restoring the last two members, their machines had overloaded and sent everyone to the present day.

Coley had met his best friend Ray Norman here. It was his golf club where Coley now worked as chief of security. While Ray had been nursing him back to health following the cruel and inhuman torture Little Pinto had heaped on him, Coley had found himself gradually beginning to care about Ray and wanting to make a clean, honest slate of his life.

Jim and Arte had come to care about him too, and when they had finally opened the portal between their time periods, they had not tried to force Coley to come with them. They had gone back to report to their superior and fully intended to soon be back here, in hopes of tracking down the Posey gang. At the same time, due to Coley's vital role in the Dr. Faustina case, Arte was petitioning for Coley to be granted full immunity so that he could return to 1874 and visit his mother when he wanted.

For the first time in years, Coley was a free man, at least in this time period. It was a liberating feeling, a heavy weight off of his shoulders. He had grown to loathe running. And even if Arte could not secure the immunity, Coley never had to worry about running here. He was happy living straight, with Ray and the adoring cat owned by Mrs. Featherstone, a permanent guest.

"Coley?"

He gave a violent start. The voice was familiar. And as he turned to face the speaker, his eyes widened in surprise. The voice's owner was familiar, too.

The other party felt the same about him. "Well, I'll be. It really is you!" he grinned, coming closer. "What's going on, Coley? What are you doing in a fancy place like this?"

Coley gave a dark, somewhat uncomfortable smirk. "I'd think you'd have more pressing questions than that, Lafe—such as what am I doing in a _time_ like this."

Lafe shrugged. "Oh, I figured you'd just come through that weird door on the mountain, like I did." He looked around the golf club in noticeable appreciation. "This looks like a sweet place to knock over."

"Lafe!" Coley snapped to attention, gripping his former confederate's shoulders. "There's not going to be any knocking over. I work here. I _live_ here."

Lafe started, staring at his old friend. "You're not saying it . . . really is true?" he said in disbelief. "I know I heard the rumors. And I heard about the government thinking about pardoning you, but I thought it was all a trick on your part, some new plan of yours to make it rich."

Coley gripped tighter. "You should know me better than that, Lafe." But then he sighed and his anger passed and he released the other man. "It's all true. I've gone straight. I hoped maybe you and the others would've got wise and done the same."

"Coley . . ." Lafe hooked his thumbs through his gun belt. "We all met up out in the desert and spread out looking for you. We were hoping to all get back together, like old times."

"Well, I'm sorry you wasted your time." Coley stepped back. "That's all past now. If you and the others still want to run around raising Cain and robbing towns blind, you'll be doing it without me. And if you so much as try to knock over this golf club, I'll have to stop you." He touched the gun at his side.

"You really are serious." Instead of getting angry, Lafe just sounded disbelieving, perhaps a bit sad. "Oh, hey, look, Coley." He grabbed at Coley's arm and felt it go stiff in his grasp. "I wouldn't go against you. If you want to lay low and stay honest, I won't interfere."

Coley looked at him. "What about the others? Would they feel the same?"

"I guess I lead them now," Lafe realized. "They won't go against what I tell them."

Coley wasn't as sure. He knew how quickly criminals could turn against each other. But he nodded, giving Lafe and the entire old gang the benefit of a doubt.

"I wouldn't betray you, Coley," Lafe insisted, seeing Coley's hesitance. "I owe you for saving my life back at the tower."

Coley raised an eyebrow. "How did I do that?"

"That crazy doc was shooting at me, wasn't he? I only saw him out of the corner of my eye because I was fighting with West, but . . ."

"I didn't know who he was shooting at," Coley replied honestly. "I thought it was me. But I guess it could have been you. Or both of us. We were standing pretty close together.

"Even if I saved you from that, though, I plugged you in the arm a few minutes later."

"Oh, that was an accident," Lafe said with a wave of his hand. "You were trying to get West, weren't you?"

"Yeah, I was." Coley glanced around, uneasy and uncertain. "But I should tell you, I'm not trying to go after West or Gordon now. If they should turn up here, and you're still here, that's fine by you. Got it?"

Lafe shrugged. "As long as they don't try to get me."

He started to follow Coley along the perimeter of the property. "Are you really going to stay here all the time, Coley? I mean, supposing that petition goes through. Won't you be planning to come home?"

Coley looked back to him. "This is home now. If you want to go back, go ahead."

He had to admit, he was wondering how things would go if Lafe decided to hang around. Lafe seemed to have no desire to change from his law-breaking ways. That was how Coley had felt, a long time ago when he had first started running for his life. Then the endless days, months, and years had wore him down into the tired, resigned, and determined man who just wanted it to stop and was willing to throw his old life away to do it.

"Coley . . ." Lafe stopped walking and just looked at him. "What happened to you? Out of everybody, we figured that if just one of us stayed the same, it would be you. We thought you'd be looking forward to some new heists. And especially here, no one would even know what to make of it! They don't know who you are."

"They do now," Coley returned. "This place is pretty well-known in the city. Anyway, I'm happy here, Lafe. I'm not going to do anything to spoil that." He leaned on the gate, staring towards the nearest mountain. "As for what happened to me . . . well, that's a long story. I couldn't really talk about it out here."

"I'm not going anywhere," Lafe replied. He came and propped himself on the gate with an elbow, watching his former boss.

At last Coley let out a weary sigh. "Alright. Come with me back to the place and we'll talk."

xxxx

A silver, fluffy Persian was waiting right by the door when Coley led the way into the main lobby. She meowed in greeting, coming out to rub against him. As Lafe watched in disbelieving amazement, Coley bent down and lifted her up.

"Hey, Jane. Where's Ray?"

Jane merowed, nuzzling him.

"You have a cat?" Lafe exclaimed.

"Nah." Coley patted Jane and set her down. "She belongs to a guest here. She just comes around."

"She sure seems to like you," Lafe noted.

Coley shrugged. "I still don't know why, either. She just showed up on my first night here and kept hanging around me. I'd say she has weird tastes, but she's crazy about Ray too, and Ray's great in my book."

"Who's Ray?"

Before Coley could answer, the harried blond man himself appeared on the scene. "Coley?" He smiled in relief to see him there. "Oh good, you're back. I just received a phone call that the Stones are on their way. The wife is bringing a fortune in jewels with her and we have to be on hand to take them and make sure they're put in the safe. . . ." He trailed off, suddenly seeing Lafe and his goggle-eyed interest in the conversation. His stomach dropped. "Excuse me, who are . . ."

"Ray, this is Lafe." Coley jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Lafe, Ray."

Ray blinked in surprise. "Not the same Lafe who . . . worked with you?"

"The same." Coley nodded. "He came through the portal." He shot Ray a Look that said, _When West and Gordon get back, we're going to have to find out if something can be done about that._ Who knew who else might come traipsing through the time doorway by accident? Since the opening was in the middle of nowhere on its other side, they very likely would only gather outlaws and other riffraff. Most respectable people would not be wandering in the desert where the portal was.

Lafe was still trying to decide what to make of Ray. "This guy knows about us?" he hissed in amazement.

"Ray knows about everything," Coley stressed.

Ray looked like he wasn't sure what to make of Lafe's presence, either, particularly right at this point. "Well," he said at last, struggling to be polite, "I'm glad to meet you at last. Coley told me a lot about you. I'm sorry you couldn't have come at a different time; we're going to be overbooked this weekend. There just isn't any place you can stay."

"That's alright; I probably couldn't afford you anyway." Lafe grabbed Coley and stepped to the side with him. "Coley, if he's telling the truth, all those jewels are going to walk right through the door any minute!" He was whispering now, albeit he imagined Ray knew that he had taken an interest in the news.

"I know they are," Coley retorted. "We've known about it for days."

"And you're really not tempted?!"

"To throw away everything I've worked hard to gain? No." Coley frowned. Undoubtedly the sight of the jewels would stir something in him, but he was not going to act on whatever he might feel. It was a superficial pleasure and that was all.

"What could you have gained that those rocks couldn't give you more of?" Lafe persisted.

Coley gave him a long, hard look. "I can't explain it to you, Lafe. No one could explain it to _me;_ I had to learn it."

Lafe had no chance to reply before the door flew open and Artemus Gordon strolled in, followed by James West. "Hello, hello!" Arte chirped, seeing both Coley and Ray in the lobby. "Ah, it's good to be back in the 21st century." Then, belatedly noticing Lafe, he tensed. "Er, have we come at a bad time?"

"No!" Ray exclaimed. He looked visibly relieved to see the Secret Service agents. "No, this is a good time. We're just preparing for the arrival of some important guests."

"I see we weren't the only ones to use the portal lately," Jim intoned.

"I was just making a social call," Lafe said. "When I saw Coley here, well, I couldn't help but stop in and say Hello." He patted Coley on the shoulder and started to back towards the doors. "I'll just be going now. See you later, Coley. I'm glad you're okay."

Coley turned to watch him, not convinced that there wasn't going to be trouble. "Where will you go?"

Lafe shrugged. "I'm sure I'll find something." He slipped through the doors, nearly clanking into a woman laden with furs on the walkway. "Oh, excuse me, Ma'am." He skittered to the side, touching the brim of his hat.

Ray ran a hand over his face. "That's Mrs. Stone," he groaned. "I hope this isn't an indication of how their entire stay here will go."

Coley exhaled in exasperation. "Sorry, Ray. Lafe just showed up like he said and told me the whole gang has got back together and is looking for me. I think Lafe's the only one who found the portal, though."

Arte shook his head. "I've been worrying about things like this happening," he admitted. "I've been trying to come up with a way to really make the portal like a door, something that can be opened or closed at will. And no one who isn't looking for it would find it."

"That sounds great," Coley said, crossing his arms. "But can you do it?"

"I don't know," Arte said, spreading his hands.

Jim smiled. "If he can't, we really do have a problem."

Ray managed a smile too. "It really is good to see both of you again," he said. "I know it's only been a couple of weeks, but it feels so much longer."

Coley nodded, heading for the doors. "We have a lot of catching up to do," he said. "Right now, though, we have to get these people in here and get their goods in the safe." Mrs. Stone was almost at the door now, escorted by both her husband and two security guards. Coley pulled the door open for them as they arrived.

"Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Stone," Ray greeted as he followed Coley to the entrance. "I hope your trip here was satisfactory?"

Mr. Stone glanced to him, seeming preoccupied. "Hmm? Oh, why yes, it was very nice indeed."

"May we inspect your safe, Mr. Norman?" Mrs. Stone queried.

"Of course. But I can assure you both, it's just as secure as it was on your last visit. In fact, it's probably more secure. May I present my new chief of security, Coley Rodman." Ray regarded his friend with pride.

"I was thinking you were new," Mr. Stone said. "When did Mr. Norman hire you?"

"Not too long ago," Coley said. He wasn't that crazy about having to associate with the various high-falutin' guests who passed through the golf club. He felt out of place in their world. But he was willing to put up with that; he liked his job and he wanted to be there with Ray.

"Well, I hope you really are good at your job, young man," Mrs. Stone declared. "These jewels have to be protected!"

Coley tried to bite back a retort of _I'm not __**that**__ young._ Instead he half-growled, "I know how to take care of jewels, Mrs. Stone. You don't have anything to worry about."

At least, he thought, remembering Lafe, he _hoped_ there was nothing to worry about.

Jim and Arte stood by, watching them head down the hall towards the offices and the safe. "_That_ was interesting," Jim commented.

"Ohh, to put it mildly," Arte said. "Coley must be on his way to developing the patience of Job, to deal with people like that." He chuckled. "I can't say I envy him."

Jim shrugged. "He'll make out." Suddenly noticing a scrap of paper on the floor, he blinked and reached for it. "Mrs. Stone must have dropped this. I noticed a piece of paper hanging out of her pocket when she walked in."

"I wonder if it's important?" Arte mused. "I suppose you'd better go give it back to her, Jim." But then he stiffened, seeing Jim unfolding it. "I didn't know you were in the habit of reading other people's messages. It's a federal offense to tamper with the mail, you know."

Jim did not answer. He had thought he had seen something strange shining through the blank side of the paper. Now that he had it unfolded, he saw what it was. And he was more bewildered than ever, not to mention concerned.

"Arte . . ." He held it out. "Look at this."

Arte sighed. "Well, I suppose since you've already looked at it, there's no harm in me having a peek too. . . ." He trailed off, staring at the paper in shock. "'Beware of Codename Pinto'?!" he read.

Jim nodded. "Codename Pinto." He folded the paper again. "I only know of one person who uses that codename."

"And last we knew, he was still running free in this time period," Arte groaned. "Oh no. Jim, what if this note refers to him?"

"I don't know, Arte." Jim moved to head down the hall after the departed group. "But I do know we'd better stick close to the Stones and try to find out."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"Pinto?"

Lucrece looked up from the kitchen window above the sink. She had thought she caught a fleeting glimpse of her second-in-command's reflection in the glass, but now he did not seem to be there.

Suddenly he was behind her. "Yeah?"

She started and turned to him, a scolding on her tongue for his abrupt appearance. But it faded. She was just relieved to see he was standing and walking with no apparent pain.

Both he and Coley had been badly hurt in the explosion on Mt. San Antonio, but while Coley had been pushed away by the blast, Snakes had tried to push Pinto _into_ it. Pinto had been moving slowly and painfully for a while, burned and noticeably limping. The limp was gone now.

"You're doing better," she said.

He smiled. "Well, I had a good nurse." Lucrece had tended to him every day, in most spare moments. Brutus suspected that it was that, and moreso the fact of finally knowing she loved him, that had led to his fast recovery.

She stepped closer to him, running her hands down the front of his shirt. "I've been thinking," she said. "Now that you're up, perhaps we should start planning for getting married."

Pinto's eyes lit up. "We could do it any time," he said. "There's lot of places around here that could take care of it."

Lucrece nodded. "But overall, I'd feel more comfortable with a church than a justice of the peace," she said. "Even though neither of us is the slightest bit religious."

Pinto smirked wickedly. "You just don't wanna get married in a courthouse. Or have a justice of the peace hang around us long enough to maybe get suspicious. Is that it?"

Lucrece smirked too. "Would you want any of that?"

"No." Pinto kissed her. "But we'll have to get a marriage license fixed up, unless we're going to fake one."

Lucrece shook her head. "It should be real. We shouldn't have any trouble getting one, if we do it in this time."

"I figured we would be." They had managed to learn that the portal was open and working. The fact that Jim or Arte had not called to tell them meant that they were trying to plan how to get the gang captured and through the portal. And the gang had no intention of allowing that to happen. With the Secret Service at the helm, they would all be going to jail once they were back in their own time. And Lucrece and Pinto would, of course, be separated.

"If you're up for doing it really soon, we could drive out today and see about the license," Pinto continued now.

"Are you well enough to leave the house?" Lucrece wondered.

"I'm just fine, especially if we stay in the city," Pinto smiled.

"Then that's what we'll do. I'll get the van out of the garage." In between tending to Pinto, Lucrece had completed her driving sessions and obtained her license. She and Brutus had also managed to purchase a used van that all of them could travel in. Pinto intended to get back to finishing his own driving sessions as soon as possible.

Lucrece was alert, but as she stepped out of the house and crossed to the garage, she did not notice the bandaged figure in the shadows across the street, watching her. At last, swearing under his breath, the spy turned and fled.

xxxx

By the time Jim and Arte caught up with the group, Coley and Ray were just finishing their demonstration of the safe.

"So you see, Mrs. Stone," Ray was saying, "your jewelry will be perfectly protected in our vault."

The woman nodded thoughtfully, seeming satisfied. "It does seem adequate," she mused.

"And what about your chief of security?" Mr. Stone asked, eyeing a glaring Coley up and down. "You've made sure of his background and his references, I trust?"

"You don't have to worry about Coley," Ray said, an edge in his voice.

"You're certainly on casual terms with your staff," Mrs. Stone remarked. "Well, nevermind. We should move along to our room before dinner."

Ray nodded, curtly. "Go back to the front desk," he directed. "Someone will be there to show you the way."

Jim stepped forward. "Mrs. Stone," he said. "My name is James West. I believe you dropped this in the lobby." He held up the piece of paper.

Her eyes went wide. "Thank you, Mr. West," she said, snatching it away from him.

"I'm afraid it fell open on the floor," Jim white-lied. "And I couldn't help but see it and be interested. My partner and I know someone named Pinto. Perhaps it's the same one you're being warned against?"

Mrs. Stone exchanged an indescribable look with Mr. Stone. Behind them, Ray and Coley were bewildered.

At last Mr. Stone took up the conversation. "How do you know the man, Mr. . . . North?"

"West," Jim corrected. "Pinto is a criminal. We've tangled with him from time to time."

"I doubt it's the same man," Mr. Stone said hurriedly. "Come, Dear. Let's go." He took Mrs. Stone by the arm, leading her past Jim and Arte on their way back to the foyer.

Ray stared after them. "What was that all about?" he wondered when they had passed.

"I found a note on the floor that said 'Beware of Codename Pinto'," Jim explained.

"Yes, and their reaction was certainly odd," Arte frowned. "Do you suppose Pinto could be threatening them, perhaps trying to extort money?"

"Possibly," Jim said slowly.

"Not likely," Coley entered the discussion. "Pinto was hurt almost as bad as I was. Maybe worse, since he was burned and I wasn't. I just started really moving around shortly before you two went through the portal. Pinto was probably held up at least that long. Maybe longer."

"That's true," Arte consented. "But then I have to wonder more about that note."

Jim looked to Ray. "Mr. Norman, how much do you know about the Stones?"

Ray blinked in surprise. "They're old patrons of the club," he said. "I mean, since even before my . . . my death. They're somewhat snobbish, I have to admit, but as far as I know, they're good people. They were willing to come back here after I reclaimed the club, in spite of my past as a blackmailer." His voice lowered. "And I can't say the same for all of my old guests."

"They sound fairly innocuous," Arte commented. "Perhaps they aren't as snobbish as they appear."

"They don't like me much," Coley grunted. "And I'm not that crazy about them, either. But since they didn't snub you, Ray, I'll stick it out with them. Anyway, the more they might act up, the more I'll want to show them they're wrong. Even if it might get tempting to just let Lafe take their stuff."

Ray managed a weak smile. "I'm sure they'll feel different about you once they get to know you better."

"I'm not sure I want them to have the chance," Coley muttered. "I don't plan to be anything but business around them, unless my patience snaps."

"But anyway," Arte broke in, "about that note. What do you think it could mean?"

"I think," Jim said slowly, "we should call Miss Posey and ask her."

xxxx

The telephone was ringing in the house by the time Lucrece and Pinto returned later that afternoon. Lucrece frowned, getting out of the van in annoyance. "Why doesn't someone get that?" she muttered.

Pinto frowned too. It _was_ strange. Cyril in particular had developed a fascination with the telephone and loved to have a chance to use it. If he was around, Pinto was sure he would answer. And where would all of them have gone at once? To lunch? For a walk? To investigate the nearest arcade? Pinto had found Brutus in that place recently, mildly intrigued by some type of fighting game.

"Wait a minute." Lucrece touched her hand to Pinto's chest, stopping him. "Something isn't right. Do you smell that?"

Pinto's eyes narrowed. He did. He had no idea of the exact components, but he could imagine it was some type of gas.

Lucrece swore under her breath. Their enemies aside from the Secret Service agents knew of this place. Although they had hoped Snakes and Florence were dead, they had not wanted to focus all of their attention on believing it. Lucrece had meant for all of them to clear out and find a new residence, once Pinto was better. She had been looking at rental listings for the last couple of weeks. Obviously she had not been quick enough.

Drawing her gun from her purse, she motioned for Pinto to come with her to the side door. With his lasso in one hand and his other hand ready to grab for his gun, he went, trying to get ahead of her.

Another gun clicked from the window nearest them. "Oh, I'm sorry, but you're both out of luck," came Florence's sneering voice. "Never double-cross F.O.W.L." Without even waiting for a reply, she fired, aiming for Pinto.

He dove to the side, firing back just as quickly.

Lucrece added her own ammunition. "I had hoped you were dead," she snarled as they dove around the side of the house.

"I don't die easily," Florence answered.

"What about the others?" Lucrece demanded. "Are they all dead in there?"

"The only way you'll find that out is to come in and see for yourself."

Lucrece clenched her teeth. Florence had completely ambushed them. They had not been properly prepared for an attack in the modern world, despite the alarm system. Now she was furious.

"You can't be here all by yourself," she said.

"Maybe that's all I needed for the surprise," Florence replied. "After all, no matter how much studying you do, I still know this time best. And I've been planning this for days."

"It's going to look suspicious to the authorities," Lucrece said.

"They might even know that F.O.W.L. was responsible, but they'll have no way of catching me," said Florence. "So I don't particularly care."

Suddenly Lucrece stiffened. "Something doesn't sound right," she said to Pinto. "She's just as audible over here as she was by the window."

A chill ran up Pinto's spine. She was using some kind of speaker system. And that meant she could be anywhere right now, even . . .

He sensed the presence above them just in time to launch his lasso before she could spring. But even as it flew around her waist and began to pull her arms to her sides, she pulled the trigger one last time.

Lucrece shot back at the same moment, but she was unable to stop the bullet from tearing past the side of her head. She fell back, losing her balance and striking her head on the concrete. The gun slipped from her hand.

Pinto's eyes flamed with both fear and anger. "Lucrece!" he screamed.

His gentlemanly behavior around Lucrece did not extend to Florence. He pulled the lasso taut and kept pulling. The woman tumbled off the roof with a cry, sailing over Pinto's head to land on the grass. Pinto tied the other end of the rope around the metal fence and immediately knelt beside his betrothed.

"Lucrece?!" He reached out, gently but frantically, brushing the hair away from the right side of her face. There was blood, but it was only superficial. The bullet had grazed her. Whatever worse damage there was, it had come from the contact with the cement.

As he searched, his fingers soon felt the sickening bump near the back of her head. There wasn't any more blood there, but he was plenty panic-stricken without it.

"Lucrece!" He gripped her shoulder. "Lucrece, can you hear me at all?!"

There was no indication that she did. But she was definitely breathing; Pinto was thankful for that, at least.

He got to his feet shakily, looking towards the house. He could not take her in there; it was full of gas. And now in the distance he could hear sirens. One of the neighbors must have panicked and called either the police or an ambulance. Or both.

The telephone was ringing in the house again, but Pinto could not bother himself with that. He knelt by Lucrece once more, busying himself with trying to restore her to consciousness.

"This is because of me," he said through clenched teeth. "We didn't get out of this place because of me."

He still didn't know if everyone in the house was dead or merely unconscious. And who knew how serious Lucrece's injuries were?

Maybe, he thought bitterly, she had been right in the first place.

Maybe it _was_ too much of a risk for them to be romantically involved.

xxxx

Lucius was in the process of signing the register at a Los Angeles motel when the vertigo hit him. He swayed, falling hard against the front desk. The writing from the pen trailed off into unintelligible nonsense, slipping off the edge of the ledger.

"Sir?!" The desk clerk sat up straight, regarding him in concern. "Are you alright?"

Lucius looked up, his eyes bleary. What was going on? He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. "I'm fine," he stammered at last. "It's . . . uh . . . it's been a long day. Just get me my key, will you?"

The clerk fumbled with it. "Maybe I should call a doctor," he said.

Lucius took the key from him. "I'm sure I just need some rest. Thanks anyway." He gritted his teeth, placing a hand to the back of his head as he stumbled off, suitcase and key in tow.

The dizziness subsided almost as quickly as it had washed over him. He managed to get his room unlocked without difficulty and staggered inside, shutting the door behind him. He let the suitcase down hard on the floor as he hurried into the bathroom to stare at himself in the mirror.

_Whew, what a trip._

He really didn't _look_ ill. But this was as bizarre as what had happened several weeks ago when he had been on assignment overseas. Out of nowhere he had suddenly felt as though he had been violently knocked back. And for some time afterwards, his skin had tingled in places as though damaged or burned. It had not caused him to foul up his mission, but it _had_ been an annoyance and even a hindrance, at its worst.

He went back into the main room and sank onto the bed. Right on schedule, his communicator was beeping. He sighed, taking a pen-like object out of his jacket and extending the top section. "Channel D, open," he mumbled.

"Mr. Bowen?" His boss sounded uncertain and concerned. "Is everything alright over there?"

"Fine." Lucius reached with his free hand to massage his eyes. "I just got in. You're on time, as always. Let me have the details of this job."

"Naturally I'm on time. And you must seek out Mr. Blackburn's prize spies in the Los Angeles area. We're unsure of how many there are, but they're going to rendezvous with an overseas contact at some point in the near future. Unfortunately, we don't know the precise day, time, or location of this meeting. All I can tell you is that these spies are planning to register at a place known as the Oak Bridge Golf Club. I've heard it's overbooked already; you won't be able to get in to stay."

"So I go just for the day," Lucius said.

"That's right. Once you believe you've uncovered the spies, stay as close to them as possible. They know nothing of you, so try to get them to trust you enough that it won't seem suspicious."

"That's easy."

"I'm sure it shall be, for you. And you know what to do if you are able to attend the meeting?"

"Keep them alive until backup arrives, if it's at all possible. And if it's not . . ." Lucius paused. "I just do what I do best. I know the drill by now."

"Good. Oh, and Mr. Bowen . . . do be careful. You've been with us over two years. I'd hate for anything to happen to you now."

Well, wasn't he the clairvoyant one. "Nothing's going to happen to me," Lucius replied. "Channel D, out."

He closed the transmitter and laid back on the bed with a sigh.

_Two years._

It really had been two years since he had closed up his business as a career criminal and had gone to work for the other side. The work had been, as promised, largely the same, but with much more intrigue and danger thrown in. But that was to be expected, he supposed, when working for one of the largest counterspy organizations in the world.

He rolled onto his side. He would head out to the Oak Bridge Golf Club in the morning. Right now the dizziness was coming back a bit. He needed a good rest. And some apples, when he woke up.

xxxx

Jim hung up the phone with a frown. "There's still no answer at Miss Posey's place."

Arte sighed. "Oh, if only we knew where to go," he berated. "I'm sure they're not at the same place by now. And anyway, we've never known exactly where _that_ was."

Jim headed for the door. "It couldn't hurt to scout around that neighborhood," he said. "Just in case. If nothing else, maybe one of the neighbors heard something that could be a clue to where they are now."

"It's worth a try," Arte consented. "Oh, Mr. Norman, is that old car available?"

"Hmm?" Ray started from where he had been staring out his office window. "Oh. Yes, by all means. Take the car and look, if you think it will help. But please let me know the instant you know anything, good or bad."

"We'll do that," Jim said. "We realize you have a stake in this too."

Ray sighed. "Unfortunately. I'm sorry all this is happening on your first day back."

"Oh well," Arte said lightly. "We came here to round up the Posey gang. Maybe the matter will end up being expedited." He headed for the door. "By the way, where has Coley gone?"

"He said something about going over the grounds again," Ray said slowly. "Maybe I'll go look for him while you two look for the gang."

Jim nodded, sensing there was more to it than that. "Alright," he acknowledged. "We'll be back as soon as we can."

Ray waited until they were out the door and in search of the car Ray had let Arte use for driving, before he headed onto the green and took his golf cart. Coley had been upset ever since Lafe had appeared that afternoon, and Ray was certain his disappearance had something to do with that.

It was, henceforth, not a surprise when Ray discovered Coley at a far corner of the property, sitting on a rock and staring at a manmade waterfall that existed there for purely aesthetic purposes. Every now and then Coley tossed a pebble into the water that rippled and pooled under the falls, deep in thought.

Ray turned off the cart and slowly approached his friend. "Coley?"

Coley's shoulders rose and fell in a weary sort of way. "Hey."

Ray came closer. "Are you alright?"

Coley leaned back, a dark smirk curling his lips. "You know, it's funny. Once upon a time I said to Gordon that I wondered if 'they' would let me be free. I meant my old gang, mostly, and I meant in the other time. I should've thought that they might find me here sooner or later."

Ray sat on a rock near him. ". . . Did Lafe try to recruit you back into the gang?"

"He sure did." Coley idly played with a twig. "But he acted like he'd respect what I wanted." He frowned. "He said that, and yet I know Mrs. Stone's rocks really got him excited. I don't know if he'll chance going against me and trying to get them or not. That would put me in a bad spot, but worse than that, it'd put _you_ in one."

Ray smiled a bit. "Oh, don't worry about me, Coley. I'd make out. I just don't want the Stones' opinion of you to be marred by something like Lafe attempting to get the jewels."

He hesitated. "Do you trust him at all?"

"I did when we were both in the gang." Coley tossed the twig into the water and rested against the taller rock behind him. "He was my second, and even though he didn't always agree with what I decided, he never went against me.

"But that was then. What's he going to do now that we're on equal ground?" He clenched a fist. "Maybe he'd decide that his desire for the jewels is stronger than any respect he still has for me. And if he tried to take them, he'd have his gun.

"I know I told Kirby that I didn't mind shooting a man. And I would've shot Lafe if he'd ever tried the same thing on me that Frank did. But both then and now, even if I ended up having to do it . . . I'd mind." He shook his head wearily, covering his eyes with a hand. "I don't want to shoot Lafe. In the old days, he was the closest thing I had to a friend."

Ray fell silent, considering both Coley's words and his own answer. "If he's a true friend, he won't put you in that position," he said at last.

"I know. It's just that . . . times have changed . . . _I've_ changed . . . but Lafe hasn't." Coley leaned forward, frowning again. "The years of running haven't done to him what they did to me. He still wants to operate as an outlaw."

Ray wasn't sure what to say to that. He reached out, resting his hand on Coley's shoulder. "Maybe he'll change too," he said quietly. "Both of us did. Or maybe, even if he wants to keep on with his current life, he'll go back to his own time and leave you alone."

"Maybe." Coley paused, taking in Ray's comments. ". . . You just said '_his_ time'," he observed.

". . . I guess I did," Ray realized, chagrined. "I know it's your time too, but I suppose I . . ." He shook his head. "I don't think of that time as yours anymore. You've adapted so well to this time and place that I think of this as your only time now. And actually, both times are yours."

"That's weird, isn't it." Coley leaned back. "I guess I can't really know if I still feel like the other time is mine at all unless I go back there again. I'll always have a connection to it, at least, because of my mother and because I lived most of my life there up to this point. But I don't know if it still feels like home.

"Can someone really have two homes? And I don't mean in a 'Here's a house and here's another house' way." He gestured in the air.

"I know what you mean. And I'm not sure of the answer." Ray gazed off into the distance. "I would say it _should_ be possible for someone to feel at home in more than one place. But maybe it depends on the individual person."

"Yeah, probably." Coley started to get up. "And we'd better be getting back before the Stones have a conniption about their stones."

Ray laughed, standing as well. "They might already be doing that."

"I wouldn't be surprised," Coley said dryly, heading for Ray's golf cart.

xxxx

Jim and Arte both stopped and stared when they caught sight of the flashing lights in front of one of the neighborhood houses. "Uhoh. Something certainly happened here," Arte remarked in concern. "That's the paramedics."

"And there's a lasso tied to that fence," Jim noted. "Someone must have been caught in it and either got free or was arrested."

"A lasso?!" Arte pulled over across the street and got out. "Jim, we might have just hit pay dirt."

"And someone else might have hit _them._" Jim exited the car as well and they crossed the street.

It was not really a big surprise to find Pinto standing outside in the driveway. But the sight of the paramedics kneeling down to examine Lucrece Posey was most definitely a shock. So was the sight of the other gang members, excepting Brutus, lying motionless on the front lawn. Brutus was standing and leaning against a tree, coughing uncomfortably.

"Pinto!" Arte called. "What happened?!"

Pinto jumped a mile. Seeing the two agents, he started over to them. "It's _Peter_ around people from this time," he said numbly. "Peter Bowen."

"Oh yes, Peter Bowen," Arte repeated, remembering the name Pinto had used at the driving school. "But nevermind names. Why does Miss Posey need the paramedics?!"

"And why are most of the others taking their afternoon siestas on the grass?" Jim intoned.

Brutus looked over. "I can answer that, gentlemen." Coughing again, he abandoned the tree and walked over to the edge of the lawn. "Florence shot some kind of a gas bomb into the house through a back window. All of us fell unconscious. The others have not as yet awakened."

"Florence?" Arte repeated. "As in, Florence who should have died on that snowy mountaintop but obviously didn't?"

"The same," Brutus nodded. "And it was all to ambush Miss Posey and Pinto. I believe she most likely wanted to harm Pinto, in order to get back at Miss Posey. Instead the opposite happened. Pinto had Florence entrapped at the time, but she managed to get away in the confusion of the paramedics' arrival."

Arte looked to Pinto, who had left the conversation and was blankly going back to where the paramedics were trying to revive Lucrece. In spite of Arte's dislike of the sadist, he felt a shiver at Pinto's behavior now. "He acts as though he's not even here," he said, his tone hushed.

"I doubt very much that he is," Brutus replied. "He and one of the paramedics dragged us out of the house, but once it was established that we would likely recover, he went back to Miss Posey's side."

"We still don't know what actually happened to her," Jim pointed out.

"Florence shot at her and she fell, striking her head on the walkway." The bitterness in Brutus's voice was apparent now. "She hasn't responded to either Pinto or the paramedics."

Arte cringed. "That doesn't sound good."

Brutus nodded. "And if anything worse should happen to her, I confess that I'm concerned over what might happen to Pinto because of it. He would not recover." He glanced to them. "I tell you this only because I know you would draw the line at going to the hospital and directly ending her life."

Arte winced. "We would indeed, Brutus. Do I sense a bit of bitterness over my past tricks?"

"You do." Brutus stiffened and came to attention as Lucrece moaned at last, showing some hint of regaining consciousness.

"Pinto?" she cried, bewildered and half-dazed. She reached out with a hand, searching for him through the air.

Instantly Pinto took it. "I'm right here," he soothed. "I won't leave you, Lucrece."

Jim looked away from the scene. "Clearly this is a bad time to ask Pinto what we came about, but I wonder if you might know the answer," he said to Brutus.

"Ask me and find out," Brutus replied, but he was occupied as well, also concerned for Lucrece.

"Mr. Norman has a couple of new guests at the club this weekend," Jim said. "Mr. and Mrs. Stone. Mrs. Stone was carrying a note that said 'Beware of Codename Pinto'. Does that mean anything to you? And if not, do you think it would mean anything to Pinto?"

Brutus frowned, shaking his head. "I do not understand it. I have no reason to believe that Pinto would, either. None of us know any Stones."

Arte let out a discouraged sigh. "You are telling us the truth now?" he wondered.

"I am not lying." Brutus started forward. "If you will excuse me, I have matters to attend to."

Jim stepped back. "Let's let them go for now, Arte," he said. "We'll just have to try again later, when Pinto might be receptive to being questioned."

Arte nodded. "They're so shaken up, they didn't even seem surprised or upset that we'd found their hideout," he noted.

"Apparently they really do care about their chairman," Jim said.

"Ohh yes," Arte agreed. "And Pinto in a different way than the rest. I finally figured out he and Miss Posey are sweet on each other."

Jim glanced towards the house. "The gas should be aired out of there by now," he said, observing the open doors and windows. "The paramedics will probably insist on Miss Posey going to the hospital at least long enough to be examined by a doctor. And the other gang members are just starting to come around. Brutus will be occupied with them. What do you say we see if there's any clues in the house?"

"James, my boy, I like the way you think," Arte declared. "Just as long as we don't get caught in the house when they come back inside."

"We'll try to make sure that doesn't happen, Arte," Jim replied as he headed for the side entrance.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Lucrece really did not want to go to the hospital. She was irritable and in pain and just wanted to be alone or with Pinto. But the paramedics pressed her, and told her she couldn't even go back in the house until it was fully aired out from the gas, so at last in frustration she consented.

She was not even sure what had happened or how it had happened. She was told something about being attacked and falling and hitting her head, and it all sounded so ignominious that she wanted to forget about it entirely. But with the paramedics, and later the doctor and the nurse, and Pinto worrying somewhere in the hall, it was impossible to forget.

She absolutely refused to stay in the hospital once the tests were run and the doctor said she was alright but would have a terrible headache for a while. The house should be fine by this point, she was sure. And she would rest better in her own bed than here, with all of the beeping machines and an aggravating needle in her arm.

So when Pinto was allowed into the examination room, she was getting up and gathering her things.

"Lucrece?" She looked to him. "Are you okay enough to do that?"

"Yes." She jerked her jacket off the hanger and began to slip into it, fighting to ignore the pounding in her head. When the dizziness came, she grabbed at the wall.

Pinto was at her side in an instant, gently steadying her. "Lucrece, you had me worried," he said softly. "You were just laying there. You didn't wake up or answer me at all. And I didn't know if everyone else was dead. . . ."

"Are they alright now?" Lucrece queried.

"Yeah," Pinto nodded. "I called back there. Brutus said they'd all been checked out and they were fine."

Lucrece could hear that there was something unspoken in his words. "What is it, Pinto?" she asked, too much in pain to pull away from his assistance and not really wanting to pull away from his arms.

". . . I started wondering if you were right in the first place."

She went rigid. "What do you mean?"

"That we shouldn't be doing any of this. We were still in that house because I was hurt. And then Florence showed up and targeted us for her revenge. You figured things like that would happen. Then they did and we couldn't do anything about it."

"You captured Florence. It isn't your fault she got away." Lucrece did not like what she was hearing, especially right now. "We just got that marriage license. Are you saying you don't want to go through with it after all?"

"I want to, more than anything," Pinto replied. "But I don't know if it's safe for us. And what about any kids we might have? They'd get targeted someday too."

Lucrece looked up at him, her fingers curling around his arm. "I thought of all these things before and you convinced me we could overcome them," she said, the distress and anger and desperation mixing in her voice. "You said you knew I would fight for what I wanted. And you were right.

"I've just been discovering that I want _you,_ Pinto. I want your love. I want to be _married_ to you! Don't take that away from me now. We'll just have to learn to be more careful, to be better prepared for any such attacks that might come. That's the only solution.

"Anyway, word will have already been spreading about us now. If we stop, do you think that will stop the assaults?"

Pinto drew her close to him. "No," he knew. "It won't. Not now."

"Then it would be pointless to stop. If anything, it would make us look frightened and weak, and I won't have that." Lucrece looked up at him. "Let's go ahead with our plans. We want to get married; we should."

Pinto gazed back at her. "I can't lose you, Lucrece," he said. "Not again. I know it wasn't the same pain you went through, but while I was dead and stuck in Justice, I'd lost you. I couldn't talk with you while you were still there, and when you left, I couldn't go after you."

"Then make up your mind to fight," Lucrece insisted. "Just like before."

"This hadn't happened before," Pinto muttered. He kissed her.

She returned it, firmly, determined. "Take me home, Pinto," she said. "We'll both get some rest and you'll be thinking more clearly when you wake up."

"The house might still be too gassy," Pinto frowned.

"Then we'll buy a fan," Lucrece retorted. "I'm not staying here. Let's go!"

Finally Pinto nodded. "Okay," he said. "We'll go. But until we find another place to hide out, somebody had better always keep watch."

"I agree," Lucrece said. She was already heading for the door.

Pinto hurried after her to keep up.

xxxx

Snakes pulled his hat low over his eyes, hunching down on his stool at the bar. The television was blaring the nighttime news, and the lovely anchorwoman had just announced of the attack that evening on an unidentified woman by the much-despised, much-feared criminal Florence, who had been temporarily caught with a lasso. The other residents of the house had been hit with a heavy knockout gas. Even without names, Snakes could easily fill in the blanks there.

Now he was more terrified than ever. He had not had anything to do with Flo's plot, unless he had inadvertently caused it by going and spying on the house earlier that day. If Florence had been spying on him at the same time, she might have gotten the idea for the attack then. She was out to get him too, he was sure, and of course he would be implicated in this mess. Pinto and Posey and the others would all be on the warpath.

He was still healing from his injuries caused by his own explosion. He had nearly been killed when he had pushed Pinto into the blast—something that Posey would of course say was fitting and well-deserved. But he had regained consciousness bleeding in the snow and had struggled to limp away. Some hikers had found him the next morning and he had bribed them with money stolen from F.O.W.L. to keep quiet and not let the story get on the news.

He really wanted to get out of town altogether. He still wanted to be rid of the whole gang, but he would have to lay low while he recovered. Maybe he could take flight to Canada for a while. If he was not in the city, he doubted they would stumble across each other.

It was ironic, that a chance meeting on the street between him, Pinto, and Cyril had snowballed into the madness he had created on the mountain. They had not been looking for him. And he would not have gotten scared and started looking for Flo to help him get rid of them if he had not been certain that they would start plotting his demise after meeting him.

He gripped his glass, his knuckles white. He had really made a mess of everything. And it was not a pleasant realization in the least.

"Apple beer," came an order from the stranger who had sat down next to him.

A chill ran down his spine. The voice was so familiar in some respects that he had to turn, trying to peer at the man without being noticed. Fear struck him hard in the heart.

The man noticed instantly that he was being observed. He glanced at Snakes, unconcerned, and said nothing. There was no recognition in his eyes.

Snakes slumped back, bewildered. He sounded a lot like Pinto. And he could see the resemblance, which he had at first thought was a great deal stronger. But this man was not Pinto. He had a strange crescent scar under his right eye, no sideburns, and his hair was a bit shaggy in the back. It was just a bizarre coincidence that he had sat down next to Snakes.

Still feeling the other's eyes upon him, the stranger looked over again. Snakes swallowed hard and tried to give him a casual grin. "It's . . . uh . . . just not every day that somebody wanders into a bar and orders something that isn't even alcoholic," he said. "Especially with apples."

The man shrugged and turned away. As the drink arrived, he focused his attention on it.

Snakes tried to do the same with his, but he was still shaken. This guy was even quiet like Pinto.

"You couldn't care less about the apples. You mistook me for someone else."

He stiffened at the sudden voice. "What . . . uh . . . what makes you think so?" he stammered, trying to sound as though he was brushing it off.

"The way you keep looking. The way you're so confused. Trust me, Friend, I'm paid to be observant."

Snakes gulped down the rest of his drink. "You're right," he said then. "I thought you were someone I knew. But you're not, so it doesn't matter."

"No, except that now you've got me curious. This guy who looks like me, he must not be a friend of yours. You wouldn't be running scared if he was."

"He's not a friend," Snakes confirmed.

"What's his name?"

". . . He calls himself Pinto," Snakes said after a moment's hesitation. It surely couldn't hurt.

The man's eyes went wide. He spun to face Snakes fully, grabbing at the shocked man's shirt. "What did you say?!"

Several people turned to look. Snakes stared at him, his hands shaking as he raised them to grip his assailant's wrists. "P-Pinto," he gasped. "That's what I said. Pinto! Why?!"

The stranger looked at him hard. "Because that's what I call myself too," he said. "And I don't know you from Adam. Are you sure you're not looking for me?"

Snakes' jaw went slack. This was some kind of horrible nightmare. "N-No," he said. "I'm not looking for you. I don't know you!" Emboldened by everyone watching, he tore himself free. "I'm trying to get away from the Pinto I know."

Pinto #2 continued to watch him, unconvinced. "Maybe I'd better ask _your_ name," he declared.

"Just call me Snakes," Snakes answered. "Snakes Tolliver."

The color drained from the other Pinto's face. "Snakes Tolliver?" he repeated in utter disbelief. "And you're running from a man named Pinto?" He looked to the stymied bartender. "Are you sure you didn't put alcohol in this drink?"

The bartender shook his head.

This reaction baffled Snakes. "Say, what's with you?" he frowned. "You act like you've seen a ghost."

"I think I am," Pinto #2 retorted. "You see, there was a man named Snakes Tolliver associated with a man named Pinto in the 1870s." He gave Snakes another hard look. "Now, you wouldn't just happen to be _that_ Snakes Tolliver, would you?"

Snakes was staring again. "I . . . I . . . well, how could I be?" he snapped at last. "This is 2012. And I'm not a ghost. Sure, maybe I look half-dead, but I'm real. You should know; you just got through grabbing me!"

"I also know about something called time travel," said Pinto #2. "Not that I ever had cause to believe in it, but I'm starting to wonder." He leaned on the bar, sipping the apple beer. "I think you'd better come with me and tell me everything you know."

"And if I don't?" Snakes shot back.

"Then I'll follow you," was the calm, cool reply. "I'll find a way to make you tell me."

Nervous now, Snakes started to push himself away from the bar. "Look, all of these people are witnesses," he said. "If you're threatening to torture me or something, I can call the police and have them back me up."

Pinto #2 looked most unconcerned. "I never said anything about torture."

"Some people might read that into it," Snakes said.

"Read what you like." Pinto #2 finished the drink and stood, dropping a bill on the counter. "You're just as interested as I am. You want to know why I look so much like this other Pinto, why I even seem to know about him."

"I don't imagine you'd tell me," Snakes said, tensing.

"You're probably right. But you won't know until you try." Pinto #2 stepped closer to him. "Why don't we just step outside, away from the crowd?"

Snakes looked him up and down. "Just outside," he said at last. "In the parking lot. And if anything happens to me, somebody in here will call the police."

"Fair enough. We'll even pay someone to watch us through the window." Pinto #2 led him to the door, handing a bill to a random patron near the front window. "You'll do that for us, won't you?"

The man gaped at the denomination of the bill. "Y-Yes," he stammered. "Yes, Sir, I sure will."

"Good." Pinto #2 opened the door, letting Snakes go through before following him. "We'll stand over there, under that streetlight." He pointed to the far side of the parking lot, out of the hearing range of anyone inside, but very visible from the window.

Snakes nodded, heading in that direction. Pinto #2 strode after him. As they reached the light, Pinto #2 stopped and turned, crossing his arms. "You first," he said.

Snakes glowered. "You already guessed it," he said. "Yeah, it was time travel."

"Just for you?"

"No." Snakes shifted. "The whole gang is here."

"And for Pinto to be after you, it must be after your miraculous restoration to life. Which means you're a traitor to Miss Posey and you tried to kill her and Pinto both."

Snakes froze. "What makes you think I . . . we . . . were dead? Or that we could be brought back to life?"

"It's in the history books, if you know where to look. But that's not important." Pinto #2 moved closer. "The important thing is that you tried to kill them. That doesn't sit well with me."

"Why do you care?" Snakes shot back. "Do you really look up to them or something?"

The mysterious man considered that and nodded. "I guess that's a good way of putting it."

Snakes sneered. "Well, Pal, I'm sorry I tried to destroy them."

"You're only sorry because they're still alive," was the reply. "I'd like to kill you right now, but I can't afford the notoriety. Besides, I guess it would mess up the timeline." Pinto #2 turned to go. "What a shame."

"Hey, wait a minute!" Snakes took a step forward. "You said you'd explain yourself to me!"

The other man paused. "Let's say this. If you'd killed them, you probably wouldn't be talking to me right now. See if you can figure that one out."

And with that he was walking to his car, leaving Snakes gaping after him.

xxxx

It was with weary relief that Arte pulled up at the Oak Bridge Golf Club that evening. He sighed as he cut the car's engine.

"I'm telling you, James, we barely made it out of there," he declared. "And we didn't even learn anything. If Sergei had caught us . . ."

"We did learn something, Arte," Jim interrupted. "We learned that there's nothing in their house that can help us."

"Oh, such exclusive news." Arte exited the vehicle, with Jim following. "And for that, we could have been knifed."

"At least we heard from Brutus that Miss Posey is alright and coming home," Jim mused.

"And we have to wonder what Lafe might be doing here," Arte said. "I know I worried that people would find the portal. I guess I just never thought of _him._ And so soon."

"I don't think Rodman did, either," said Jim. "I have a feeling his bad mood wasn't only because of the way the Stones treated him."

"That would be hard, wouldn't it?" Arte remarked. "To be trying to create a new life for yourself, only to have the old life intrude again."

Jim nodded. "And I don't think he or we have heard the last from Lafe."

They entered the main lobby. Despite the hour, it was quite active, with several people checking in at once. The desk clerk looked overwhelmed.

Arte chuckled under his breath. "I don't relish _his_ job."

"I don't, either." Jim headed for the hallway leading to Ray's office. "And Arte, have you stopped to realize the curious position we're in?"

"I may have, but tell me anyway," Arte replied.

"We mainly came back to round up Miss Posey and her gang," Jim said. "Now we know where they are. And they're all at least somewhat dazed at the moment, even if for Pinto it's emotional and not physical. We could go get the whole lot of them and be out of here tonight.

"But after seeing that strange note, I can't feel entirely peaceful about leaving until we know what's going on about that."

Arte mulled over Jim's words and finally nodded. "Uh huh. I see your point, Jim. And I agree—we _should_ find out what's going on—especially if the note refers to another Pinto. As if one isn't more than enough."

Jim smirked a bit.

By now they had reached Ray's office. The door was slightly ajar, and through it they could see Ray occupied with the laptop. Jane was lying on the floor near the desk, curiously batting a nearby golf ball.

"Hello, Mr. Norman," Arte greeted. "Hello, Jane."

Jane looked at them upsidedown and meowed.

Ray gave a start. "Oh! You're back." He pushed the laptop aside. "Did you find out what was going on?"

"Yes, we did." Jim strolled closer to the desk, his hands behind his back. "Apparently Florence launched an attack on the entire gang. She gassed most of them in the house while Pinto and Miss Posey were out. When they returned, she engaged them in a gun fight and injured Miss Posey."

Ray slumped back. "I didn't even think Florence did anything for revenge," he said in surprise. "I thought with her it was all business."

"Well, either she changed her mind or she had business behind the attack," Arte said, "because she was really on the warpath today."

Ray took up a pencil, tapping it against his other hand. "Are they all going to be alright?" he wondered.

"The last we heard, they probably were," Arte said.

Ray sighed. "I can't say I'm that concerned. Although it is strange, to think of that woman being hurt."

"Pinto was devastated," Jim said.

Coley entered the room then. "What did he have to be devastated about?" he wondered.

Jane hopped up and padded to him, rubbing against his legs. He bent down and stroked her head. "Hello to you too," he greeted. When he sat down, she jumped on his lap.

"Miss Posey was injured today, by Flo," said Jim. He and Arte explained again what they knew, while Coley listened with a frown.

"If Florence is still alive, the chances are pretty good that Snakes might be as well," he said.

"And hopefully long gone from this city," Arte declared.

Jim was not so sure, but he hoped it as well.

"We haven't really heard anything about your trip back," Ray said after a moment. "What was happening back there?"

Coley looked over with interest. "I know my mother got that letter," he said. "The end of that biography I found about her changed. Thanks."

"We delivered it in person," Arte said. "And it was worth it to see her eyes light up. It was definitely a heavy burden removed from her heart and soul." He smiled. "We were glad to do it."

"Colonel Richmond was in a panic when we got back to Washington," Jim reported. "He'd had every available agent engaged in the search for us. Needless to say, it took a lot of talking to him and showing him our pictures over and over before he could grasp that we hadn't just been lying delirious somewhere."

"But he believes you now?" Ray asked.

"Yes, he does," Arte said. "And he's reviewing my report. He'll consider my petition for you to be granted immunity, Coley."

"He's not the one who makes the final decision, is he?" Coley petted the ruff of fur around Jane's neck. She leaned into his hand.

"No, but he can make the recommendation and encourage it to go through," Arte replied.

"Did he act like he thought it could?"

"He wasn't sure," Arte admitted. "And we might need to be there to testify in person."

Coley froze. "Me too?"

"It would probably help," Jim said. "But we don't know."

"If it didn't go through, I'd get arrested on the spot," Coley frowned. "I won't go back to testify, if it has to be that way."

Arte nodded. "I understand, and I don't blame you," he said. "Well, even if it doesn't go through, you're always free to stay here. Jim and I stressed that we didn't have any right to remove you from this time if you truly have turned over another leaf, and you definitely have."

"Good." Coley tried to relax.

"Arte said, 'Why waste the taxpayers' money by dragging someone to prison who's willing to do more good out of prison, and is already doing it?'" Jim smirked a bit. "'Save the prisons for the unrepentant and those who don't know yet how to change.'"

Ray chuckled. "What did Colonel Richmond think of that?"

"I can't say he fully agreed, but he admitted that there were extenuating circumstances here, considering the time travel angle and all," said Arte. "I don't think there'll be any trouble on his part."

"I hope not," Ray said.

"By the way, Mr. Norman." Jim looked to him. "Do you have any background information on the Stones?"

Ray blinked. "I suppose I have something. Why?"

"Since we weren't able to learn the meaning of that note from the Posey gang, our only other choice is to try to learn why it was specifically given to the Stones," Jim told him. "And the best way to do that is to learn about them."

"Of course," Ray nodded. He tapped the pencil again. "I don't like giving out information on my guests. But I guess we have extenuating circumstances here, too."

"I'm afraid we do," Arte agreed.

Ray got up and crossed to the filing cabinet. "My new receptionist and I have duplicate copies of the guests' records," he said. "Take mine and study it. She'd notice if hers disappeared." He quickly flipped through the tabs, soon reaching the folder he wanted. He handed it to Jim.

"Thank you," Jim nodded. "We'll bring it back as soon as we're done with it."

"Dinner should be ready soon now," Ray said. "Why not wait to read it until after that?"

"Well, if it's not quite time, perhaps we'll go over it while we're waiting," Arte suggested.

Jim concurred. "We'll see you both in a few minutes." With that they departed.

Ray sighed, sinking back down at his desk. "I hope they'll learn something that will help."

Coley grunted in agreement. Jane, blissful on his lap, purred.

Ray hesitated. Coley had been quiet for some time and Ray was concerned. He wanted to ask about what Jim and Arte had reported, but at the same time he did not want to rub salt in the wound by bringing it up. At last, however, he opted to speak again.

"Coley . . ." Ray looked to him. "If that immunity doesn't go through, will you be too disappointed? I know you were hoping you'd be able to visit your mother. . . ."

Coley glanced up. "It was never a sure thing," he said. "Neither was being able to stay here, until we found the portal and saw that it wasn't going to act up."

"I know, but that doesn't mean that you wouldn't be disappointed," Ray said.

"Of course I'd be disappointed," Coley retorted. "But I'd deal with it. I'd still have my home here, like Gordon said. That's the most important thing, and I'm really grateful for it."

Ray smiled. "I'm glad you feel that way."

Coley shrugged. "Maybe West and Gordon could even bring my mother here sometime, if they wouldn't mind and if she'd like to come."

Ray perked up. "That's an idea," he said, hopeful now for that outcome if the first did not come to fruition. "I'm sure she'd love that."

"I'm not sure what she'd think of this modern world, but yeah, she'd love to see me. And I know she wants to meet you. Probably the cat, too. She always wanted to meet my friends." Coley watched as Jane stretched out on his lap, her tail draped down on his leg.

"You're lucky that she stayed interested in you after you turned to crime," Ray said quietly.

Coley looked to him with a start. "Don't tell me your parents haven't had anything to do with you since they found out," he exclaimed.

"No, no, it's not that." Ray sighed. "We've talked. But we haven't been close and it's obvious that I've disappointed them."

"That's no reason to keep their distance," Coley declared. "Anyway, don't they even know or care that you're trying to do different now?"

"They know," Ray said. "I'm not sure if they care. Maybe they think I must have some new diabolical plot up my sleeve, like Mrs. Featherstone thought before she came out here."

"It's going to be Christmas soon," Coley pointed out. "Won't they call or come out or invite you to go back there?"

Ray looked down at his desk. "I honestly don't know," he said quietly. "The last time I talked to them at all was right after I got out of the sanitarium. I called to let them know. They said they were glad, but I could feel the frost through the phone."

Coley stood, Jane in his arms, and walked to the desk. "That's not right," he said. "Somebody's parents should be around at a time like that. And if they're not, they should at least want to be. There shouldn't be any frost." He set Jane on the desk and she went to Ray. "If they're that mad at you for what you did, I hate to think how they'd treat you if they find out what _I_ did and that I'm your friend."

"I'm not even sure they're mad, exactly. Hurt, betrayed . . . and wondering exactly what they're supposed to do with a son who was dead and had to be brought back by a scientific witch." Ray leaned back, rubbing his forehead and idly petting Jane. "I almost have the sense that they're not sure if I'm really back, spirit and mind, or if I'm just an empty shell, like a zombie. Or maybe they think an evil spirit has possession of my body and that's the only reason I'm alive again. I think, in the end . . . they might be afraid of me because they don't know that I'm really _me_."

Coley frowned. "I wouldn't know how to fix that kind of thinking," he admitted, leaning on the desk.

"I don't either," Ray said. "And I guess . . . without being able to resolve that and assure them I'm back, I don't know how to get past any of the other barriers between us."

Coley laid a hand on Ray's shoulder. "There has to be a way," he mused. "I'll figure it out, somehow."

Ray gave a wan smile. "I don't know how you will."

But Coley was resourceful and they both knew it. If anyone _could_ come up with an idea, Ray was certain Coley could. And picturing everything being subsequently resolved was a nice thought.

". . . I don't even feel right talking about my mother, knowing about this mess of yours," Coley said.

"Don't," Ray said immediately. "Since I don't know if anything can be resolved with my parents, it makes me happy to hear about your relationship with your mother. I'm glad that it's still flourishing."

Coley considered that and nodded. "Alright then."

Jane merowed, hopping off the desk and onto Ray's lap. He laughed, stroking her fur. "Jane wants to see things get resolved too."

"Of course she does," Coley said. "She wants you to be happy."

"I am," Ray said firmly.

And Coley believed that, in spite of Ray's sorrow over this problem, he was indeed happy. But he still hoped to be able to think of a way that the sorrow could be resolved, as well.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

_The prison transport wagon was bumpy, but Coley wasn't bothered. He was barely paying attention to the jostles and jumps. What were a few jolts when he was very likely to be executed upon reaching their destination?_

_He wrung his hands, staring out the window at the passing desert. In his mind, he could hear the future prosecutor screaming in the courtroom about the mass murder Coley had planned to commit, about all the evidence that he was going to commit it. And that when he didn't want to share his wealth with Dr. Kirby, the inventor of the fatal germ, he had shot the man down in cold blood._

_No, no, __**no!**_

_Coley ran his hands down his face. It wasn't true. The only particle that was true was that he had intended to shoot Kirby (for a different reason). But things had not even turned out that way. He had been forced to shoot in self-defense when Kirby had suddenly gone mad and fired on him without warning. And he had never agreed to commit mass murder. That was why he had finally done as the gang had wanted and said they had to leave. He would not stand for so much innocent blood on his hands. He'd be shot on sight._

_Not that this fate was much better. No one would listen to his side of it. He didn't even have enough money with him to hire a decent lawyer. He would end up with some cheap public defender who probably wouldn't even try hard enough to win their case. Who would want to give an outlaw like Coley Rodman a fair chance?_

_He looked up when Lafe hissed in pain at the next, particularly painful bounce of the wagon. His second-in-command was clutching his wounded arm, which was now bleeding again._

_Whitey was the only really lucky one of the bunch of them. Badly injured in a fall, he had been taken on a separate wagon to a hospital, which was where he still was. His sentence was being delayed; when he was better, he would still have the opportunity to escape._

_Coley swore in his mind. This whole mess was his fault. He should have listened to Lafe and the others sooner when they wanted to get away from Kirby. The problem was that he had not wanted to leave the sweet set-up of using Kirby's paralysis germ while looting a town. No one got hurt, including them, and the townspeople were better after a few hours._

_But now they were all on their way to their deaths. Lafe and the others would go down with him and be killed as accessories to the proposed mass murder. And if not that, they would never get out of prison._

_He glanced to Lafe again. "Look, I'm sorry about your arm," he said gruffly._

"_I know you didn't mean to shoot me, Coley," Lafe returned. "But I guess right now it doesn't make much difference, does it?" He swallowed hard, gazing out the window. "We're all goners."_

_The wagon was starting to slow in preparation for crossing a stream. Coley looked out the window too, a plan beginning to form in his mind._

"_Maybe not," he mused._

_Lafe perked up. "What do you mean, Coley? Are we breaking out of here?"_

_Coley shook his head. "We can't. At least, not right away. We've got to have transportation. But . . ." He looked out the window again, towards the driver and the guard sitting next to him. "If we could overpower those two, and get them back here, we could take control of this thing for a while. Then we could unhook the horses and ride off."_

_A bit of hope came into Lafe's eyes. "Could we really do it?"_

"_If we work together," Coley said. "There's four of us and two of them. Now, don't you think we ought to be able to handle two guys?"_

"_We should," Lafe nodded._

_The others voiced their assent as well._

"_We'll have to move fast," Coley said. "Right now might be our best chance for a while, since we're slowing down. And __**try**__ not to kill either of them," he cautioned. "We're wanted right now for a lot of possible deaths we weren't even going to cause in the first place. If we want to have any hope of clearing ourselves someday, we can't go leaving people dead at the place where we're making our break."_

"_We might not end up having a choice," Lafe said, "but we'll try to leave them alive if we can."_

_And by some grand stroke of luck, their plan worked. They managed to make enough noise to get the wagon stopped and the guard coming after them to get them to shut up. As soon as he opened the door, he was mobbed by the gang. Coley delivered a knockout punch and they pulled him into the back. When the driver rushed to assist, the same thing happened to him._

_They drove the transport themselves until they came close enough to a town that the trapped men would be found alive within a few hours. Then, unhitching the horses, they took most of the supplies with them and rode into the desert._

_Four horses would be spotted more quickly than a lone rider, so by mutual agreement they were to go their separate ways. Coley and Lafe were the last to separate._

"_Well . . ." Lafe looked to him, gripping the horse's reins. "I don't know what to say. Thanks for everything, Coley. We had some good times."_

"_And some bad ones," Coley said. "And I hope we won't meet up again unless we're both still free."_

"_You gave us both another chance for that," Lafe said. "The others, too."_

"_We'll see how long it lasts. Will you be alright, with your arm?"_

"_Oh sure." Lafe still hesitated, but knew he needed to leave. "Well . . . see you later, Coley. Good luck."_

_Coley didn't want to admit that he was hesitating, too. He had been with Lafe and the others for a long time now. The thought of striking out on his own was somewhat intimidating, especially when he would be on the run for his freedom and his life. But it had to be done._

"_Yeah," he said at last. "You too." He cracked the reins and the horse galloped over the sand and dirt._

_Behind him, he could hear Lafe's mount running off in another direction._

Coley woke up to the sound of horses' hooves in his ears. He lay there until they faded, leaving him completely awake in a modern, well-furnished room, where the only sound was the heat going through the ventilation system.

He wondered what Lafe had done for the past years, running here, there, and everywhere for his life. And he wondered what Lafe was doing now, tonight. Had he settled into some cheap motel, getting used to the world of 2012? Or was he camping out somewhere, maybe even close by the golf club?

Maybe Coley should have gone and looked for him. Coley and Ray's nightly check of the property had not turned up anything unusual, but they had not checked outside the gates.

He groaned, burrowing into the pillow. Lafe being back was stirring up all kinds of memories, both while he was asleep and awake. And it seemed surreal, remembering the last time they had met—in the 1870s—and then awakening to his new and current life in 2012.

He was no longer on the run for his life. Here, he was free. And Lafe could be too, if he abandoned his ideas of committing new crimes.

But Coley was not sure Lafe was or would ever be interested in going straight. And he doubted he could get it through Lafe's head why it would be a good thing for him to do so. Someone who really and truly wanted to remain a criminal would never listen to other points of view.

He smirked wryly to himself. He had not been receptive to the idea himself some time ago. He had finally, wearily decided he was ready for it not long before he had teamed up with Arte. Back then he had wondered how he would ever find a way of going straight, with the law chasing him and him unable to find a decent job and a place to settle down. Then, ironically, Dr. Faustina had provided the solution when Cyril's explosion had masked Jim being taken prisoner and Coley had been accused of Jim's "murder."

Even after that, when helping Arte solve the case, he had insisted he only looked out for and cared about himself. He had enough trouble just looking out for himself, he felt, without taking on other people's problems.

He wasn't even sure how caring about others had crept up on him again. Maybe it had never really left him, despite what he had tried to make himself believe. He had not wanted to kill all those people with Kirby's fatal germ, and he knew that the danger to his life was not the only reason why. He had never wanted to harm any innocent people if it could be avoided.

But even if his reputation as being cold and hard had never been fully deserved, as had been said, he had still used at least one layer of a frosty protective shield around himself. Then Ray had come along and eventually melted it down. Of course, Ray probably thought that Coley had done more for him than vice versa, but it went both ways.

Coley rolled over, staring up at the ceiling. With Lafe hanging around somewhere, did he feel the need to try to point his old colleague in the right direction?

He frowned. No, Lafe would have to find it for himself, as Coley had told him. Coley had already said his part, although he supposed he could say more if they met again and the occasion called for it. But he did not want to come off as preachy. That sort of approach had always annoyed him and he knew it would alienate Lafe further.

He sighed. When it was morning, he needed to perform another inspection of the grounds. Maybe then he would see if he could find Lafe.

Right now he had to sleep.

He just hoped he would be able to. Turning onto his side, he threw the covers over his head.

xxxx

Lucrece stirred, awakening to the feel of the soft pillow and the insistent, continuing pain. At least it had subsided somewhat, but it was still an annoyance. She sighed, raising a hand to her forehead and trying to avoid the bandage at the right side.

"Lucrece?"

She started at Pinto's hopeful voice. He was sitting in a chair next to the bed, perking up as he saw that she was awake.

She let out a sigh, both exasperated and touched. "You were supposed to be asleep," she said.

"Couldn't," Pinto replied. "I know the doctor said it was probably okay for you to sleep, but just in case there was trouble I wanted to be here."

Lucrece smiled a bit in spite of herself. "Well, there wasn't any trouble, and there isn't going to be, so you can feel free to go to sleep now."

"Only with you awake, I don't feel much like sleeping now, either," Pinto said.

Lucrece closed her eyes against the dimmed lights in the room. "Have you thought more about what we said at the hospital?"

"Yeah, I have." Pinto took her hand in his, gently running his other hand on top of it. "I don't quite know what to say. When I was trying to get you to feel it was alright, anything like this happening seemed so far away. I really thought we'd be able to fight it if it came at us. But then it did happen and we weren't able to do much of anything about it.

"You're right, Lucrece—we're not indestructible. I mean, of course I already knew that, but . . ." He shook his head. "After coming back from the dead, maybe I kind of lost track of that fact for a bit."

A wry smirk tickled Lucrece's lips. "So now you've finally come around to the ugly truth. But that shouldn't mean that we have to cast aside everything we wanted."

"I know. And you're right, that it would be senseless to stop now." Pinto kissed her hand. "I just need a little time to stop reeling. Maybe you're also right that a good night's sleep will fix it up."

Lucrece nodded in approval. "We'll talk in the morning. Go to bed, Pinto."

Pinto moved back and made a motion to stand. "If you're sure you'll be alright," he said, still hesitant.

"Of course I will," Lucrece retorted. "It's just a small bump."

"Those small bumps can cause a mountain of trouble," Pinto said. "You were just lucky, Lucrece." He got up and headed for the door. "Night."

"Goodnight." Lucrece leaned back, watching him leave.

They had come a long way since Pinto had returned to her and she had started to finally face the realization that she loved him. At first she had not known what to make of it. She had been rebellious and afraid.

Now, she liked it. And she was not about to let Florence destroy what they had been discovering they had.

But Pinto was determined too and he did not give up easily. He did not want Florence to influence their decisions any more than Lucrece did. Right now he was just, as he said, reeling. He would come around.

xxxx

Arte sighed in exasperation, pushing the file folder away from him on the bed. "I'm telling you, Jim, I still don't know what to make of this couple's dossier. I don't see anything that strange, but how in-depth is a profile from a golf club going to go?"

"Probably not very far," said Jim. "But it does mention that they each own a company."

"That's got to be interesting." Arte shook his head. "At least they're not rivals, since they each handle very different things."

"That's one bright side." Jim leaned back. "Doesn't it strike you as odd, Arte, that they're so accepting of Mr. Norman after what he's done, considering how uppity they acted around Rodman?"

"I guess it does, a bit," Arte admitted. "But I hoped that they were sincere, since it made Mr. Norman very happy."

"I hope so too," Jim nodded. "Another thing that's odd, though, is the fact that they have that note. What would bring them into contact with the Posey gang?"

"Maybe they have something the gang wants," Arte said. "Such as enough money to start seriously financing their devious plots."

"Maybe," Jim said noncommittally. "Or maybe the gang is telling the truth and they have no involvement with the Stones. Which would mean that we'd have to start searching for another Pinto."

"It's hard to believe the coincidence of someone else using that name," Arte frowned. "Especially where we of all people would chance to come upon it."

"It does seem implausible, doesn't it," Jim mused. "Then again, maybe it's even more difficult to believe that we would come in contact with that note if it wasn't a coincidence and was instead someone's deliberate design."

"True," Arte nodded.

Jim looked to him. "Arte, why don't you use your computer skills to go over the Internet in search of another person calling himself Pinto?"

"An excellent idea," Arte said. "And since the hour is not yet that late by 2012 time, perhaps I will commence the search now."

"Good," Jim said in approval.

But the Internet determined to not be very helpful. Searches resulted in many horse websites and a few stores selling beans. Every now and then, Arte would spot a site discussing the Posey gang and curiously click on it to see what it said. Nowhere, however, could he find any mention of another dangerous character called Pinto.

"It's just no use, Jim," he said at last, slumping back and throwing his hands in the air. "This mysterious danger, whoever he is, has managed to keep himself off of the Internet."

"Maybe we're just not digging deep enough or using the right search terms," Jim mused. "Or maybe this is one time when there really isn't anything that can be dredged up except by the old-fashioned way."

"And that would be by descending into the criminal underworld, I imagine?" Arte returned.

"Exactly," Jim nodded.

"Oh, that's always one of my favorite ways to spend an evening," Arte quipped, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"Why don't you try looking up the Stones as long as you're on the computer?" Jim suggested. "Maybe we'll learn something Mr. Norman's dossier doesn't say."

"Since people in 2012 enjoy gossip about the rich and famous as much or more than people in our day, we're sure to find something," Arte said as he typed. "The question is whether it will be accurate."

"That's always the price we have to pay when dealing with the fourth estate," Jim replied.

"Such a pity." Arte scrolled through the pages of results. "It looks like both Mr. and Mrs. Stone have been making themselves known throughout the most _charming_ society circles."

"And every time they come here, reporters and photographers want to get a story on them," Jim noted, reading over Arte's shoulder.

"Oh yes, and look at the one for this time." Arte pointed in disgust at the screen. "'Mr. and Mrs. Stone return to Oak Bridge Golf Club, once again owned and operated by the formerly dead blackmailer Ray Norman.'"

"You'd know they'd jump on that," Jim said, but his tone spoke of his own revulsion.

"'Norman claims to be back on the straight and narrow,'" Arte continued to read, "'but while some are skeptical of this at best, the Stones are not. In a widely-publicized statement, they confirmed that they would be spending a weekend at Oak Bridge and said they were thrilled that Norman, an old friend, would be their host.'"

Jim leaned back. "Maybe they are on the level, Arte," he said.

"Maybe," Arte said without terribly much hope. "Another interesting bit of news—Mrs. Stone's jewelry collection is almost legendary with hotels and clubs. She always takes far too much of it wherever they go."

"Considering that Miss Posey's gang consists of her regional leaders of crime, I have a hard time believing that they would personally stoop to something such as jewel theft unless they were desperate." Jim stepped away from the computer. "They'd be more likely to have someone do it for them, unless maybe it was a particularly large caper such as the Crown Jewels."

"A very good point," Arte said. "And it brings us right back to the same old problem—if there's another Pinto, who is he?"

"That's why we'll be doing something potentially dangerous and venturing into the criminal underworld tomorrow," Jim intoned. "For right now, let's go to bed."

Arte closed the browser tab. "Oh, I can't now," he said. "I'll have to design a new disguise for our little trip. And first I'll have to study some of the modern clothing more closely to get the proper inspiration."

"I'm sure you'll come up with something devious and unique," said Jim. "As you always do."

Arte smiled. "Why, thank you, James. I do my best."

xxxx

Lucius took his current assignments, just as all previous assignments, very seriously. He intended to get over to the Oak Bridge Golf Club bright and early in the morning and commence his search for the spies.

He frowned as he dressed. His meeting last night with Snakes Tolliver had deeply disturbed him. Not only was Snakes a hated enemy in his book, but if that snake was telling the truth, Pinto and Lucrece were here in this time and place.

He was not sure what to make of that. Should he try to find them? Should he leave them alone? Would running into them distort the timeline? Was there really no need to worry about such things, since they had never been proven and for all he knew, only existed in people's imaginations?

His parents had deliberately given him a name that was at least somewhat similar to _Lucrece._ And he had taken Pinto's alias as his own when he had started to work and did not want his real name known. He had been taught about them and had heard tales of their exploits all his life. Now, for them to somehow be right here, right now . . . could he just ignore that?

Well, he couldn't do anything about it at the moment, anyway. He had a whole day of hanging around a golf club to get through. And trying to make friends with the spies, whoever they were. He had been sent pictures of all the registered guests, which he had been studying. None of the people were familiar to him; the spies could be any of them.

He was fairly indifferent to golf overall, but even if he disliked it, he would have to play it in order to complete his assignment. He was nothing if not efficient, and if he needed to pretend to be a complete aficionado of the game, he would do so without a second thought.

He could not ignore Lucrece and Pinto's presence anywhere as easily. He _was_ still human, after all. With his mission plan in place, he thought about them all the way to Oak Bridge.

When he went through the gate, however, and examined the number of vehicles in the parking lot, he came to attention. He was on duty now. Personal feelings would have to wait.

But he stiffened as he got out and headed towards the lobby. Through the glass, two men lingering at the front desk and chatting it up with the receptionist seemed familiar to him. And as one of them half-turned, leaning on the counter with one elbow, he knew why.

"Ah, Georgiana, I must say, the golf club is so much brighter with you in it," the man exclaimed. "I wonder how it ever got along without you."

Georgiana set two files on top of the counter. "It got along for years without me," she said. "I was just hired to replace Mabel."

"And a most excellent choice it was!" her admirer gushed.

Georgiana merely half-smiled. She had heard it all before.

Lucius smirked as he approached. "He says the same things to every pretty girl," he said.

The Casanova jumped a mile. "And just who are you?" he demanded. "I've never seen you be- . . ." But he trailed off, his skin turning several shades lighter as he took in the sight of the newcomer.

The other man had a much more deadpan, but still very interested, reaction. "My friend has a point," he said. "How do you know about his behavior around the ladies? _Do_ we know you from somewhere?" His eyes narrowed, just slightly.

"In a way," Lucius replied. "Mr. West, Mr. Gordon." He looked to the now-baffled Georgiana. "I'm Lucius Bowen, Miss. I'm here to golf for the day."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see both Secret Service men stiffen. Yes, the name _Bowen_ had sent off alarm bells in their heads. Well, that, and they probably noticed he bore a certain resemblance to an enemy of theirs.

"Mr. Bowen," Jim said, stark serious, "may we speak with you for a moment?"

"Of course," Lucius sneered. His expression normal again, he said to Georgiana, "I'd like to get started as soon as we're done. Is there a group I could join?"

Recovering, Georgiana nodded. "Yes," she stammered. "Mrs. Featherstone's group leaves in fifteen minutes."

"Good." Lucius turned away from the desk and walked with Jim and Arte to an isolated corner. "Now," he said, "what is it you want?"

"I believe we should be asking you that question," Jim said, laying one hand over the other. "You deliberately sought our attention."

"I know," Lucius said. He took out an apple and bit into it. "Want one? I have a whole sack."

"No, thank you," Arte frowned. "We're not in the habit of accepting food from strangers who look oddly like an enemy and even bear the same name as an alias he's used."

Lucius shrugged. "Not only do I know who you both are, I know where you came from," he said. "You don't belong in this time. I've read letters and journals talking about you and I've seen newspaper clippings of your adventures. I also saw a photo of the two of you standing in front of a building. Now that I've seen the front of this golf club, I realize you were right outside the front doors."

"Where would you see a picture like that?" Jim wondered.

"The only copy is back in our time with our boss," Arte added.

"Then I guess someone made up another copy from the negative," Lucius replied. "Either that or someone took the picture from your boss."

"And just brought it back to show it to you." Arte shook his head. "Oh, that explains everything."

Lucius smirked, enjoying their confusion. "I think I'll let you wonder about it a while longer. I have to rent some clubs before my group gets here." He started to walk past them.

"Hold it." Jim stepped in front of him. "Why are you using the surname _Bowen_?"

Lucius leaned in close. "Because it's mine," he answered. "See you later, Mr. West." He straightened and started off. "Mr. Gordon."

Arte stared after the brazen man, his jaw slack. "Jim, I'm getting the most horrible, unsettling feeling," he voiced at last.

"Then you're probably thinking the same thing I am," Jim answered. "That it's no coincidence that he's using the same surname Pinto was using and he looks somewhat like Pinto."

"Exactly," Arte nodded firmly. "Remember how I finally noticed that Pinto and Miss Posey are in love? Or at least, as much in love as two treacherous criminals can be."

"Lucius Bowen might be their descendant," Jim intoned.

Arte ran a hand through his hair. "The very thought boggles my mind. Not just that Pinto and Miss Posey could _have_ a descendant, but that he could be right here at the same time _they're_ here."

Jim thought about it and tilted his head to the side. "I wonder if we have descendants in this time."

"Well, I wonder too," Arte countered. "I hope we both have very large, lovely families, with beautiful girls and dashing boys. But I really don't think we should go look them up and shock them out of their minds."

"If they are related, I wonder if Lucius plans to look up his ancestors," Jim mused. "I also wonder if he might be using the codename _Pinto_, in honor of the first one_._"

"Something to look into, perhaps," Arte said. "Although the thought of _Pinto _and _honor _in the same sentence sends chills up and down my spine.

"I suppose at least one encouraging thing is that if they are related, it means Pinto and Miss Posey must surely get back to our own time, or their family line would be all mixed up."

Jim nodded. "There's no evidence that we manage to catch them, though," he pointed out. "Maybe they go back and stay in hiding."

Arte sighed. "You always think of the most dreary possibilities."

Jim shrugged. "Someone has to."

Arte adjusted his belt. "I suppose so.

"James, shall we go golfing today? It's such a pleasant morning for it."

"Yes, Arte," Jim returned. "A game of golf sounds perfect."

xxxx

Coley glanced around the edge of the golfing green, watching the people beginning to appear on the course as well as at the rental shop. His right hand hovered near his gun.

At his side, Ray observed in concern. "Are you expecting trouble?"

"I don't know." Coley frowned. "I keep feeling like something's not right, but I can't put my finger on what. There shouldn't be anything wrong, but . . ."

He trailed off, suddenly going stiff. Following his gaze, Ray stopped and stared at a man just exiting the rental shop, a bag of clubs slung over one shoulder.

"Who is that?" Coley asked at last.

"I've never seen him before," Ray said helplessly. "He's dressed like a rancher, but who knows if he's really that."

Realizing they were looking at him, the stranger sauntered across the sidewalk to them. "Do you want something?" he asked.

"Err . . . no," Ray said, all the while still staring. "Well . . . I . . . I'm the owner and manager of the club, Ray Norman." He held out his hand. "I was just thinking you must be new here. I . . . wanted to welcome you to Oak Bridge."

"Thanks." The newcomer shook Ray's hand. "You're right; this is my first time here. It looks like a nice place."

"It is," Ray said. "Oh, and this is my security chief, Coley Rodman."

Something glittered in the stranger's eyes. "Coley Rodman," he repeated.

Coley gave him a suspicious look. "Do I know you from somewhere?" His eyes said more. He really wanted to say that the guy looked a lot like a creep Coley knew, but in the interest of making a good impression for Ray's sake, he held back.

"We've never met." But the supposed rancher touched the brim of his hat the way Pinto sometimes mockingly did and started to walk past them. "My group's probably leaving by now; I have to catch up. Excuse me."

Coley folded his arms, watching the other's departure. "Something's definitely not right," he proclaimed.

"He's going back to the main building," Ray noted. "I wonder if Mr. West and Mr. Gordon have met him yet?"

Coley started in that direction. "Let's find out. And in any case, let's keep an eye on him."

Ray was completely in agreement.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Lafe rolled over in the fancy bed, his eyes cracking open as the sunlight streamed in through the curtains across the room.

This was the best night's sleep he'd had in a long time. No one was chasing him and he was staying in a room big enough and furnished well enough for royalty.

He had not thought that he would have enough money to stay at the huge hotel when he found it. But the clerk's eyes had boggled when Lafe had tried to pay with the only money he had—age-old coins, of course. And once the clerk had stammered out an explanation for his amazement, it had not taken Lafe long to realize exactly what he had and what it could do for him. He had immediately found a coin dealer, sold a few of his coins, and now had some money that was appropriate for the times. And, deciding it was high time he lived it up a little, he had returned to the hotel to get a room.

"If Coley could see me now," he grinned at the walls. "And the others."

He wasn't sure at all what to make of what he had discovered yesterday. Coley, gone straight, and working at a _golf club_ of all places?! Lafe knew Coley did not like golf. And he also knew Coley had enjoyed the thrill of getting hold of loot. Now Coley had insisted that Lafe not even consider taking all those beautiful jewels in the safe.

Coley had obviously reacted differently to being on the run than Lafe had. Lafe was anxious to go back to the lifestyle he knew best. Coley wanted nothing more to do with it.

Or at least, that was what he _said._

Of course, maybe if Lafe were to go there and start trying to lift the jewels anyway, Coley would catch him and be tempted to fall in with him again. Eventually he probably would. Then they could run off with the stuff and it would be just like old times. Better, maybe, in this new world.

Lafe frowned. He had told Coley he wouldn't go after the jewels and foul up Coley's job. He had never gone against Coley when they had worked together, even when he had badly wanted to break away from Kirby and Coley had wanted to stay. Would he really consider crossing Coley now that they were no longer working together?

Well . . . maybe in a case where it was for Coley's own best good.

But would it be, to get him in trouble with the law in another time period?

Lafe threw back the covers and sat up. What he should do first of all was to see Coley again and talk to him more. Coley had been going to try to explain everything, but the entrance of the jewels had interrupted him. After Lafe knew the whole story from Coley's standpoint, then he could figure out what to do himself.

But even before that, Lafe wanted to try out the modern room service. He was in the mood for a good, hearty meal.

xxxx

Lucrece was relieved when she woke up the second time feeling better than she had upon first going to sleep. She lay there for a moment, fully rousing up. There was still a slight pain in her head, but it was certainly manageable now.

Was Pinto still asleep?

She glanced at the clock. He could be. Or on the other hand, he could be wide awake, getting ready to check on her again.

She started to sit up but then paused. There were voices right near her door. She leaned forward to listen.

"How is Miss Posey?" That was Cyril, sincerely worried.

"A lot better, I hope," Pinto replied. "I was just going to see if she was up."

A pause. "Are _you_ feeling a lot better too?"

Pinto paused as well. "If you don't mind, Cyril, I think Lucrece deserves an answer from me on that before anyone else gets it."

"Of course."

Pinto started to turn the knob, very quietly, not wanting to knock first in case Lucrece was still asleep. Upon catching sight of her sitting up, eyeing the door as it opened, he grinned and pushed it wide open.

"Good morning," she greeted.

"It is now," he said. "How are you?"

"Much better." She watched him come over and sit next to the bed. "And what about yourself?"

He took her hands and leaned in, kissing her. "I'm better too."

Cyril, who had been lingering in the hall, scurried away to give them their privacy. Lucrece let him go.

"Does that mean there won't be any more of that talk about giving it up?" she wanted to know.

"There won't be any more," Pinto promised. He held her close. "Of course I'm worried, but I'm not a stupid coward."

She leaned into his embrace, draping her arms around his neck. "I know." She kissed him in return. "So, as for the wedding . . . ?"

"We'll have it as soon as you're up to it," Pinto promised. "Tomorrow, even."

"Good." She half-wanted to say that they would do it today, but the lingering remnants of the headache made her reconsider. She wanted to feel perfectly well for an event like that.

". . . I suppose Cyril has gone off to tell everyone that the wedding is still going to happen," she said instead as she drew back.

Pinto chuckled. "Probably." He sobered. "Everyone's been worried about you, you know. And the wedding."

"I can imagine. Everyone was worried about you after the explosion." Lucrece settled against the headboard post, enjoying the feel of Pinto's thumb running over the back of her hand.

"You know, we've become kind of a weird family," Pinto mused. "Any kid of ours is going to have a whole bunch of interesting uncles. Kind of strange to think about."

"Because we're all criminals?"

"Yeah, and there's the old saying about honor among thieves. Not to mention how Gordon was able to turn some people against others back in Justice."

"Well. I suppose after three years, at least _some_ lessons have been learned," Lucrece remarked. "There had better not be any of that again."

Pinto nodded slowly, thoughtfully. ". . . There wasn't a lot to do in Justice after we were dead," he said. "Wander around, try to haunt people, check on Dr. Faustina's progress with our bodies. . . . Some of us ended up pretty close back then."

"You and Cyril always did get along well," Lucrece said. "And you and Sergei."

"We had some good talks," Pinto said. "But I think Sergei's forgot most everything about when he was dead. Cyril told me that when he was brought back, he just couldn't believe he'd really been dead." Pinto smirked. "Maybe because it was just driving him nuts that he couldn't eat anything. He'd sit and stare at people in the restaurants for hours, trying to grab their food and of course not being able to."

"That's typical. But Cyril surely wasn't able to start fires, either. I can't imagine he appreciated that."

"Oh, not one bit. After a while, though, he started figuring out how to be a poltergeist. You know, the ghosts that can manipulate stuff and throw it around."

"And so he managed to start fires that way," Lucrece finished dryly.

"Yep." Pinto laughed. "He set a whole lot of haystacks on fire. Nobody could figure out what kept causing it."

Lucrece stared thoughtfully into the distance. "It's surreal to hear you talking about this, reminiscing on being dead as though it was nothing more than a temporary, wild adventure."

"It was, wasn't it?" Pinto leaned in and kissed her. "What's got me worried is that the next time it'll be for good, for whoever goes."

Lucrece drew him close again. "Then we'll have to make all the time before that count," she vowed. "And I won't die, nor will I allow you to die, without a fight."

"That's the Lucrece I know," Pinto declared.

She smiled. "And you're quite back to normal as well."

xxxx

Mrs. Featherstone's golfing group was meeting in the front lobby by the time Ray and Coley got back to the main building. Lucius was already approaching the group leader, smoothly friendly as he inquired as to whether he could join them. The woman was more than willing; her eyes lit up in delight at the prospect of a handsome young man in the group. Jim and Arte, standing by, did not look pleased.

"What's going on?" Ray demanded of them as he and Coley approached. "Do you know that man?"

Arte sighed, pushing back his hat. "We're not sure, Mr. Norman," he admitted. "The disturbing thing is, _he_ knows about _us._"

"And his name is Bowen," Jim added.

"Bowen . . ." Ray mulled over the name in his mind and went stiff. "Didn't you say that was what Pinto called himself at the driving class?!"

"Yes, it was," said Arte. "And I suppose it's what will be on his driver's license, if he manages to get one."

"We're concerned that this man may be a descendant of Pinto's," Jim said, nodding to Lucius.

Coley's eyes narrowed. "I wouldn't be surprised at all," he declared. "He even acts obnoxious like Pinto."

"Are you two going to try to find out more about him?" Ray demanded.

"Definitely." Jim watched the group head for the doors. "Arte and I are going to rent some clubs right now."

"Excuse us," Arte said hurriedly as he followed Jim to the doors as well.

It was about that time when Mrs. Featherstone, just about to go out the door, noticed them, Ray, and Coley. "Oh, hello!" she chirped with a wave. "Are all of you coming to golf too?"

"Some of us, Mrs. Featherstone," Arte smiled. "Jim and I, to be precise. And you'll have to excuse us; we still have to run and rent our clubs."

"Wonderful! Are you sure you won't give it a try, Mr. Rodman?" Mrs. Featherstone asked, looking to Coley while Jim and Arte made their retreat.

"No thanks," Coley answered. He was sure that Jim and Arte would be enough people on the job of watching their odd newcomer, and he himself wanted to figure out what to do about Lafe. For him, that was a much more immediate and personal issue.

Anyway, more than two people on the job and the mysterious man might start to feel crowded. Coley did not want to cause him to suddenly pack up and not move ahead with whatever his plan might happen to be. He wanted to find out what it was, if anything.

Mrs. Featherstone sighed, disappointed but not surprised. "Well, maybe sometime?" she said hopefully, patting Coley's arm.

"Maybe," he grunted.

Mrs. Featherstone turned her attention to Ray. "What about you, Mr. Norman?" she queried. "I know you love to golf."

Ray paused. "Well . . . maybe tomorrow, Mrs. Featherstone," he said then. "I have some work to catch up on." He, like Coley, did not want to corner the newcomer into abandoning whatever plans he had. And he really did have work.

"Oh, you and your work," Mrs. Featherstone said, shaking her head. "Really, Mr. Norman, the place won't collapse around us if you take a day off!"

Ray had to smile. "As I said, maybe tomorrow, Mrs. Featherstone. I took quite a few days off during the past few weeks."

"Yes, but not for golf," Mrs. Featherstone replied. "Heaven knows what you were doing!"

Suddenly realizing her group was waiting for her, she grimaced. "Oh dear, I'll have to be going. But I'll hold you to that, Mr. Norman! Tomorrow!" And she hurried out.

Coley watched her go and looked to Ray. ". . . I think I'll watch for a while on the security cameras set up around the course," he said, deliberately not saying anything about the chatty woman's obsession with golf.

Ray nodded. "Alright. Maybe I'll join you after a while. I think I might do an Internet search on Lucius Bowen."

"Heh. Good luck," Coley returned. "You're probably not going to find anything."

"I probably won't," Ray sighed.

xxxx

As it turned out, Ray found something the moment he walked through the door to his office—but not at all what he had expected. He froze in disbelieving shock at the sight of a near-stranger leaning against his desk, a stack of papers in his hands.

"You!" Ray cried. "You're Coley's old ally. What are you doing in here?!"

Lafe looked up. "I was coming here to talk to Coley," he said. "We got interrupted yesterday. But then I got to thinking. He talked about you like I never heard him talk about anyone. And I figure you must've had a hand in him going straight. So I thought maybe I should come talk to you instead."

Ray shut the door. "And since I wasn't in yet, you took it upon yourself to go through my private papers," he exclaimed.

Lafe tossed the papers on the desk and pushed away from it. "Hey, I can explain," he said.

"Yes, I wish you would," Ray shot back, folding his arms.

"I just wanted to try to figure out what kind of a guy you are," Lafe said. "It doesn't add up—Coley staying here with you. He hates golf and fancy clubs and high society people."

"I'm not high society," Ray answered, stiffly. "Coley puts up with the ones who are because he wants to be here. He has an honest job, a home . . . and people who care about him."

"He had those things before," Lafe said. "Well . . . except for the honest job part. So it seems to me that the job must be his main reason for staying."

"I don't want to speak for Coley," Ray said. "If you want answers, go to him. I'll call and tell him you're here."

"Hold on." Lafe held up a hand. "There's one other reason I can think of for him staying. Maybe you're making him. Maybe you're holding something over him. I was reading here that you were into the blackmail business."

Ray's eyes narrowed. "I was. I'm not now. Maybe you just don't want to accept that people can change, and that Coley has. Maybe you don't want to think that now you can't go back to whatever it was you had when Coley wanted to loot and steal and lead a gang.

"But let me ask you this. What did that lifestyle ever get you? You've been running for years now, just so you won't be caught and maybe killed. Is the money really worth that price?"

"Of course not," Lafe retorted. "But back there, we were being accused of things so creepy we'd never do them. Here, we could get back to the basics—looting and stealing."

"And still facing jail, at least," Ray said dryly. "Here, you could have an entirely different life. You could be free, as Coley's chosen to be. And if you insist on pursuing your ridiculous quest of dying a thief, why do you have to drag Coley down with you?" He stepped forward. "If you're really his friend, why would you want that for him?"

"I don't want to see him wasting his life away working for peanuts!" Lafe declared. "We were making great money knocking over towns."

"Oh, yes, I can imagine," Ray nodded. "Look, take it from another former criminal—crime is what wastes your life away. And that probably sounds preachy and you won't even bother to listen, but it's true. It's what Coley's come to believe. And, incidentally, his change of heart came on his own. I never pushed him in that direction."

Lafe shook his head. "I think you're both crazy, if that's really what you both think now. I _am_ going to have that talk with Coley. Where is he?"

"In the security room," Ray said tiredly. He crossed to the desk and picked up the phone.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Jane under the desk, peering up at him. She had probably hid as soon as Lafe had entered. That could either mean she did not like him or that she was just investigating him and wasn't yet sure what to make of him. Ray was not sure what to make of _that._

Lafe crossed his arms. "I'll level with you," he said. "If I really feel like Coley's where he wants to be, I'll leave him alone. I promise you I will.

"But if I do get any idea that you've just been getting him to do what you want, I'll do everything I can to get him to come away with me. I don't want to see him getting used, for whatever reason. Even if it seems like a good one to you."

Ray paused in the dialing. "Have you ever known Coley Rodman to let himself be unduly influenced by anyone?" he said. "If you have, he can't be the same man who's here. No matter what path he's on, Coley Rodman always does exactly what he wants to do. No more, no less. He's kind of like a cat in that respect," he half-muttered.

"I never thought I'd hear him get called a cat," Lafe said. But he thought on Ray's words, his hands on his hips, and finally nodded. "We're talking about the same guy, alright."

"Then you're just going to have to accept that Coley is still doing exactly what he wants to do," Ray said.

The phone clicked. "Yeah, what is it?"

Ray exhaled. He was not looking forward to giving Coley this news.

"Ray?"

"Coley? . . ." Ray sat on the edge of the desk. "You won't have to worry about going out to look for Lafe. He's here."

A long silence. "I'll talk to him. Let him come down."

"Alright." Ray hung up. "I'll take you down to the security room," he told Lafe. "You might get lost looking for it on your own."

Lafe shrugged. "I made it back here from my hotel. But sure, give me a tour."

xxxx

Lucius kept mental records in his mind of every person on every case he handled. Throughout the morning, he had been adding to the records he had opened for this assignment.

He noted Mrs. Felicia Featherstone's chatty personality and how she was prone to talking about every subject under the sun, sometimes switching topics at the drop of a hat. She loved her cat, "the boys"—Ray Norman and Coley Rodman—and playing golf, probably in that order. She was the only permanent guest, renting a cabin and paying Ray rather generously for it each month.

Her group today—she played with different people almost every time, she said—was made up of three other current guests at the club. They were all oddballs in their own, curious ways.

Mr. Hubert Hill was a local professor, the classic absent-minded type, with a pencil behind one ear and assorted mismatched personal belongings in his pockets. He kept score using the pencil, but sometimes pulled out a keychain or a miniature book or a handful of ribbons instead of the notepad and tried to write on them without thinking.

It could be an act, Lucius mused. Mr. Hill wouldn't be the first to have pretended to some level of stupidity. And those who did were usually the smartest of them all. Some of those objects in his pockets could be enemy gadgets in disguise.

Ms. Francine Powers was chubby, red-haired, and fond of cooking. She wasn't the greatest golf player, but she took it in stride, giggling in embarrassment at bad shots and clapping delightedly and cheering at good ones. She and Mrs. Featherstone often played cards together when she visited the club.

Could that friendliness and cheeriness mask a cold, cruel mind and a finger capable of and willing to pull a trigger? Lucius tried to picture her bright smile and eyes darkened with a sneer. After all that he'd seen, he could imagine it quite clearly.

The group leader was Mrs. Andrea Copeland. Despite being the oldest, with curly white hair, a few wrinkles, and glasses for her increasingly poor eyes, she was most certainly not the stereotypical grandmotherly type. And she still had enough sight to spot good-looking younger men. She had been sizing him up ever since he joined them.

Perhaps it was strange, and perhaps he was entirely wrong, but she was the one he was currently the most suspicious of. She might really be sizing him up because she suspected him of being an agent working against her and her organization.

Older people often weren't given enough credit. His own boss was getting along in years, but he was sharp as a whip and was still an excellent shot. Lucius had been impressed every time they had ended up on the practice range together. The guy could most easily take up Lucius's specific line of work, if he ever so desired.

Whoever the spy was, he or she might be working with someone on the club's staff. Coley Rodman, perhaps? Obviously he was another transplanted person from times long gone. And he was, or had been, a criminal. But from what little Lucius knew about him, he had been a gang leader and a thief, not a professional spy.

However, times could have changed.

The owner himself was somewhat under suspicion, due to his shady past. Well, Lucius's boss felt that he was likely not a threat, but Lucius was not convinced. He intended to learn as much about Ray Norman as he could, particularly since he seemed to be awfully close with Coley Rodman. They certainly made an odd pair.

Of course, James West and Artemus Gordon were most certainly not the spies. Lucius knew all about them, both from his family's scrapbooks and photo albums and from tales told through the generations. They were both staunchly upright. If anything, they would be on Lucius's side in this matter, and that was a very strange thought, considering they and their descendants had been among his family's chief enemies.

He smirked at them now as they watched him, wondering to make of this strange, confident man who knew all about them. He would keep them guessing for as long as he felt like it. Meanwhile, he would pay close attention to everyone in Mrs. Featherstone's group for the remainder of the game.

xxxx

Coley frowned, leaning back in the chair as he studied the rows of monitors in front of him. Lucius was still playing golf with Mrs. Featherstone's group. Jim and Arte, just playing by themselves, were waiting for the current hole and watching their target.

Lucius had a definite plan in mind. Coley could tell that from the way he had managed to strike up a conversation with each one of the other players. He was after something. What it was, was anyone's guess. But one thing Coley was sure of was that whatever Lucius did for a living, he was a professional.

Coley turned away, the chair swiveling to the side. The feeds were starting to bore him, especially since he couldn't hear a word. Maybe it would do him good to try to get the Lafe problem out of the way now, if it was possible to get it out of the way at all.

The door opened, admitting his old comrade. Ray remained in the doorway, smiling somewhat apologetically at his friend. "Hello, Coley," he greeted. "How are things around the club?"

"Nothing's happening," Coley answered. "Maybe that means nothing. Maybe everything." He stood. "Hey, Lafe."

Lafe was staring at the room in amazement. "You can see everything going on around this place on those crazy windows?" he exclaimed.

"Something like that," Coley said.

"Do they know you're watching them?" Lafe got up closer, tapping one of the monitors.

"They know there's stuff around that's showing what they're doing," Coley replied, trying to keep his words simple, as Ray had done when Coley had first arrived and had not understood modern terms. "They might not know exactly where the stuff is or who's behind the scenes."

Lafe gave a low whistle. "Just think if you'd had stuff like this back in our time," he said. "You could've spied on all of us, even Kirby."

"I had better things to do than that," Coley retorted. "The only reason I'm doing it now is because I'm getting paid for it."

Lafe grinned. "Now that sounds more like the mercenary guy I know."

Coley grunted. "Maybe," he said, "but don't get me wrong, Lafe. I didn't have to take a job here; Ray would've let me stay on for nothing. It's just that I didn't want to loaf around and not be useful."

"You don't have to stay here at all," Lafe said. "You were going to tell me why you wanted to and why you'd gone straight."

"I'll tell you now, but I can't promise you'll get it," Coley said.

As much as Ray would've liked to hear what Coley would say, he quietly shut the door, giving them their privacy. This was between the two of them. Coley had said that Lafe had been the closest thing he'd had to a friend back then, but Ray did not feel threatened or jealous.

He had to wonder, though—did Lafe? Maybe that was even a large part of the reason why he was balking at this whole idea of Coley living here and being honest.

Ray frowned. It was strange to think about, but definitely possible, at least as he saw it.

In the control room, Lafe leaned against a console with crossed arms. "Well, Coley?" he asked. "Why do you think I wouldn't get your reasons for all this?"

Coley sighed, pushing back his hat. "Because you didn't have the same feelings I did after all that running," he explained. "At the end, all I wanted was for it to stop. I was sick of having my life on the line, especially when it was mostly for things we never did. I wanted to be free to do whatever I wanted.

"By now you've probably heard at least something about the case I was helping Gordon with. I was in it just for myself at first. I was going to prove I didn't try to kill West. I wasn't going to let another untrue murder rap get hung on me."

He gripped the top of the chair. "There's really no easy way to say this without it sounding crazy, but I started to care about what happened to both of them. And it went both ways; Gordon ended up caring what happened to me, too. Then we ended up here and Little Pinto . . ." He trailed off, finding he did not want to appear vulnerable in front of Lafe. And yet it was a vital part of the tale, having led him to find Ray. "Well . . . he . . . had me with him for a while."

Lafe stiffened, pushing away from the console. "Coley . . . you mean he was torturing you?" He shivered. They all knew Pinto's reputation. Lafe had even met him once, and although it had been under casual circumstances, the man's sadistic nature had been evident in some of the things he had said.

"_Yes,_ he was torturing me," Coley growled. "But I got the better of him and took off. That's when I ran into Ray." He let go of the chair and started to pace the room. "He took care of me, nursed me back to health, and didn't want anything out of it except a friend."

Lafe scoffed. "Then that's the real reason you've stayed, isn't it, Coley? Feeling like you owe him something?"

Coley stopped pacing and looked to him. "That's how it started out," he said. "But we talked and got close, and finally Ray's hopes didn't sound so impossible.

"I stay here because Ray gave me a chance at a new life. Because he knows who I am and what I did and it doesn't matter to him. I stay because Ray really is my friend. And whether you want to believe it or not, that's the truth."

Lafe just stared at him, shaking his head, unable to comprehend. "How do you know he even means what he says?" he wondered. "Maybe you mean it and he doesn't."

"He means it," Coley said emphatically. "I didn't believe it either, at first, but I did later."

"I can tell you definitely mean it. You really care about that guy." Lafe sounded and looked bowled over.

"Yes, I do." Coley watched him carefully. "You were talking to him yourself, Lafe. You really don't think he's sincere?"

"Oh, I don't know, Coley." Lafe threw his hands in the air. "It's just so strange to hear you talking like this. When I thought about us meeting up again, I never thought it'd be this way."

"I'm sorry you're disappointed, Lafe." Coley's eyes narrowed. "But I hope you don't think I'm so far gone that I've turned completely, childishly trusting."

Lafe recognized the warning tone in Coley's voice. "No, Coley," he exclaimed. "Of course not."

"Then you admit I must have good reasons for feeling the way I do."

"Yeah, I guess so. But that doesn't mean you always do the best thing," Lafe rushed on. "I mean, it took you a while to realize Kirby was doing us more harm than good."

Coley clenched a fist and Lafe cringed, fully expecting to be slapped or otherwise threatened. When Coley instead stepped back, placing his hand on the console, Lafe stared again.

"You're right, Lafe. I caused us to have to run for our lives. And I'm sorry I did that to you and the others. But . . ." Coley paused. "Since it was that running that started to make me realize I had to clean up my life, I don't think I can say that I'm sorry I did it to myself. I'm happier here. And maybe I wouldn't have got here any other way."

"You really act like you do just plain want to be here," Lafe breathed. "I . . . I guess I don't really know what to say, Coley. I guess this is the end of the road for us, isn't it?"

"It doesn't have to be," Coley returned. "Just try going straight, Lafe, even just for a while. Try it and see if you like it. I could try to help you find a job in town, if you want to stay."

Lafe started to back up towards the door. "Thanks, Coley, but gee, I don't know," he stammered. "This is a lot to take in, finding you like this. You'll let me think about it, won't you?"

"Think about it all you like," Coley said. "Just don't do something stupid." His hand drifted to his gun. "Don't make me have to use this on you."

"Whatever I do, Coley, it won't be that," Lafe vowed, opening the door. "I promise. Hey, I'll see you around, okay?"

Coley watched him go, gazing after his old friend until he rounded a corner and vanished from sight.

Suddenly Coley felt very empty. Now he found himself wishing that their goodbye on the desert had been their last.

". . . Yeah," he muttered, sinking back into his chair. "See you around, Lafe."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes: A couple of readers (specifically those from a certain forum) may recognize the flashback as a morphed version of something very silly I wrote some time back. I've always wanted to do more with it, and I finally realized the way to do so is expansion and making it a little more serious. And by being fairer to Lafe; I should have reviewed **_**The Sudden Plague**_** before I ever wrote the original piece. I don't think I wrote him very well in that.**

**Chapter Six**

_Even though Coley and his gang were not among the most well-known of outlaws, they had still collected a good deal of notoriety in certain circles. And every now and then, other gangs tried to find out what they were up to—particularly rival gangs that had already proven themselves enemies of Coley and his crew._

_Coley was sure that they had been infiltrated one night, after finding the two sentries unconscious and not just sleeping at their posts. He immediately ordered all gang members to spread out and search._

"_And bring the spies back alive," he ordered. "I want to know who they are and who they're working for."_

_He himself joined the search as well, of course. But that was something he soon regretted once it got underway._

_Whoever was afoot in their territory, they meant business. As soon as they realized that their cover had been blown, they attacked the nearest people._

_It was the gunshots and the screams that did it, really. Lafe, rushing around a corner in the old fort, spotted a gun-toting shadow stealthily slipping into a dim room. Lafe lashed out, angry, his nerves on edge, and slammed the butt of his gun on the other's head. But as soon as the act was done and the shadow was slumping to the floor with a surprised and familiar groan, Lafe was suddenly stiffening in horror._

"_Coley?!" he yelped in utter, disbelieving alarm._

_He fell to his knees, trembling, turning the limp form towards the light. And although he had longed for it not to be true, it was. Somehow, in his rashness and fury, he had struck his leader hard on the head._

"_Oh no, oh no," he repeated in sickened horror. "Coley? Coley, please. Wake up. I didn't mean to do it. I swear I didn't!"_

_But what excuse was there for him not making sure of the stranger's identity before attacking? Lafe swallowed hard, stricken. If Coley was possibly not badly hurt, Lafe certainly would be after this._

_Some of the other gang members were soon rushing to the doorway, brought by the commotion of Lafe's initial cry. "What happened?!" Whitey demanded._

"_I hit Coley," Lafe answered numbly, still a bit in shock._

"_You __**what?!**__" Pete held up a lantern, casting an eerie glow over the scene._

"_Is he dead?" Whitey asked, hesitantly and in concern._

"_No," Lafe retorted defensively. "I didn't hit him __**that**__ hard."_

"_Then __**you'll**__ be dead when he wakes up and finds out what you did," Whitey declared._

_Lafe set his jaw, wanting to ignore the voicing of his own fears. "Coley?" he quavered. "Are you alright?"_

_At that moment Coley groaned, fighting for consciousness. "Ask me in an hour," he mumbled._

_Lafe was both relieved and newly worried. "Coley, I'm sorry!" he cried. "I . . . I didn't mean to."_

_That jerked Coley awake. "You?!" His eyes flew open and he glowered at Lafe in the lamplight. "__**You**__ did this to me?! You know I told you . . . !"_

_Lafe cowered. "I know!" he retorted. "But after we heard those shots, I . . . I got reckless. They could've been anywhere, Coley! And they could have shot anyone. I thought maybe they'd even got you. That's what I was really afraid of! I had no idea you were coming through the door. Honest!"_

"_So you went ahead and got me instead." Coley started to rise off the floor with flashing eyes, prompting Lafe to back up and then flee in terror. "Get back here!" Coley yelled. "Lafe, when I catch you I'll . . ." But he sank back with a grimace, dizzy and dazed from the blow. A hand flew to the back of his head._

"_Maybe Lafe hit him harder than he thought," Whitey hissed under his breath._

_Coley was more than willing to agree._

_xxxx_

_Lafe steadfastly avoided Coley for the next several hours, during which time he helped round up and imprison the real intruders into the building. He was angry, both at them and himself. Once they were locked up in the abandoned fort's guardhouse, he left Sam to watch them and stormed outside._

_Of course the word was all over the hideout by now; everyone knew that Lafe had mistakenly struck Coley. And the rumors were flying that Coley was not feeling well from the assault. But what no one seemed to know was what Coley was going to do about it when he recovered. Coley was tough and harsh, but he wasn't unfair._

_That did little to ease Lafe's mind, however. Coley had every right to be angry, and to do with Lafe as he pleased. It hadn't been just a simple mistake; he could have been hurt even more seriously than he apparently was. And Lafe had never wanted to hurt Coley in any way._

_He looked up to Coley, even idolized him. It amazed him that Coley had decided to make him second-in-command of the gang. Now he felt completely unworthy of the act. How could Coley ever trust him after this?_

_Of course forgiveness was out of the question. Coley allowed a mistake here and there, but this wasn't some vaguely annoying slip-up. This was about the worst thing Lafe could have possibly done._

_The sound of slow, shuffling footsteps made him look up with a jerk. Coley was moving towards him, his expression unreadable in the dim light._

_Lafe exhaled, slowly. Coley was still not up to par, but he had come to take care of the problem. And Lafe would have to submit to whatever Coley decided._

"_H-Hi, Coley. Are you feeling better?" he quavered._

"_I could be worse," Coley retorted. "I hear you helped get the spies."_

"_Yeah, I did," Lafe nodded, nervously shifting. When Coley took a while to come to the point, it often meant he was going to take someone by surprise in an unpleasant way. And he surely knew that Lafe was already in a jumpy and nervous state. This would make it worse._

"_And I hear you did it well."_

"_I tried, Coley!" Lafe exclaimed. "I . . . I mean, I didn't want to hit you again, or Whitey, or one of the others. . . ."_

"_Good." Coley struck out without warning, slapping Lafe across the face once, twice. "You could've killed me," he snarled._

_Lafe flinched, rocking back and expecting worse to follow. "I know!" he burst out. "I'm sorry, Coley. I'd never want to hurt you. Please believe me!"_

_Coley leaned back. His eyes flickered almost imperceptibly and his expression softened the slightest smidgen._

"_I know you wouldn't," he said. "Come on." He turned to go. "We still have to interrogate the intruders we picked up."_

_Lafe just stood and stared, struck dumb. For a long moment, he was unable to even begin to process what had just happened. Had Coley really just let it go? Possibly even . . . forgiven him?_

"_Lafe! Now!"_

_He snapped to, hurrying after his leader. "I'm coming, Coley," he stammered._

_They walked in silence for a moment. Then, out of the night, Coley hissed, "Don't do that again."_

_Lafe shivered at the growl in Coley's voice. "I won't, Coley," he said. "I promise!"_

_Coley seemed to accept that. "I only have to tell you once," he said. "You don't make mistakes a second time."_

"_With a stupid mistake like this, it might not have taken a second time," Lafe muttered in response._

"_If I wasn't sure it __**was**__ a stupid mistake, you'd get a lot worse than what I gave you," Coley declared._

_Lafe had to wonder why Coley trusted him that much, but he knew better than to try to ask. Coley was not in any mood to explain. And anyway, it was not the __**why**__ that was as important as the fact that the trust was simply __**there.**_

"_Thanks, Coley," he said at last._

"_For what? Slapping you?"_

"_For still trusting me."_

_Coley finally nodded. "If it'd been Frank, I wouldn't be so sure," he admitted. "He's going to be trouble; I know it._

"_But I don't get that same feeling from you. You won't turn against me, even if you conk me on the head by accident."_

_Lafe wondered at the certainty in Coley's voice._

_It was true, though; he had always remained loyal. And he always would._

Lafe slowed his pace, frowning to himself. He had wandered some distance from the golf club by now, but his conversation with Coley was still ringing through his mind.

Coley really had changed. Oh, there was still some semblance of the man he had known, but not only had he gone straight, he had definitely softened. Yesterday he had treated that cat with such gentleness, even talking to it. Lafe had never known Coley to be cruel to animals, but he hadn't gone out of his way to acknowledge them, either.

And then there was how he had talked about Ray Norman and how Ray had talked about him. Ray had certainly _sounded_ sincere, even if Lafe was holding out on believing it was true. And Coley was absolutely sincere, no question about it.

Lafe had been looking for Coley for so long. He hated the feeling that it had been for nothing and he had lost his friend.

Coley hadn't considered that the loss was so definite, though. He _had_ offered Lafe a choice, to live here in this world and go straight too. But Lafe just wasn't sure he really could. And he wasn't sure if talking to Coley now would always feel more like talking to a stranger than anything else. He didn't think he would like that.

Maybe the best thing to do was simply go back to the mountain and get out of here. Coley was doing alright. He certainly didn't _need_ Lafe anymore. And Lafe had the other gang members to think about, if he was in charge of them now.

"What about that chief of security, Rodman, or whatever his name is?"

Lafe froze. What?!

The voice had come from a person up ahead, sitting on a bench with another person. Lafe did not recognize the first, and the second was deliberately concealing their identity. He dove behind a nearby tree.

"He's that much of a concern?" The second person's voice was muffled, too.

"I've heard that the entire security force was a pack of wimps before he was hired," said the first. "Now they're really cracking."

Lafe had to smirk in spite of himself. Now _that_ he could imagine.

"Okay. So what do you want to do about him?"

"We don't want any notoriety if we can help it, so we'll work around him if we can. But if that proves impossible . . ."

"Kill him?"

"No, that would make all the other guards rise up looking for the truth. Not to mention Norman." An unsettling pause. "Unless you make it look like a very convincing accident. Or maybe even better, successfully frame Norman for it. Throw the notoriety his way and no one will pay any attention to us."

Lafe had gone stiff, staring in shocked and furious disbelief. Coley's life was being threatened and he had no idea who these people were or why they wanted him dead. It almost sounded like something underhanded was going on at the golf club.

"Norman is nuts about Rodman," the first person said. "They're close friends. I don't know how I could ever successfully frame Norman for his murder."

"Circumstantial evidence goes a long way. And it wouldn't hurt to throw in reminders of Norman's past insanity. Play that up and you might have something."

"He may have lost his mind, but he never tried to hurt anyone in that state." The first person was frowning now. "It wouldn't be believable."

"It would be if you made it look like he thought Rodman was really an agent of Dr. Portman's. Nothing terrifies Norman worse than the idea of her coming after him again. Honestly, do you have no creativity whatsoever?"

"This kind isn't my specialty," was the bitter reply. "But alright. I'll see what I can do, but it'll take time."

"Don't take too long," the second person ordered. "We don't _have_ much time."

The conversation was clearly over, as the two unknowns started to get up from the bench. Lafe departed as well, fleeing deeper into the park.

He had to get back to that golf club now. No matter what he thought of Coley's new friends and lifestyle, he did not want Coley to be hurt.

xxxx

The golf game continued into the afternoon. When it drew to a close at long last, everyone trouped back to the main building in their respective golf carts. As they parked, Jim could hear Mrs. Featherstone chattering at Lucius again.

"Maybe now you'll be able to meet Long Jane Silver. She might be in the lobby when we go in."

"I still don't know why Mr. Norman lets her roam everywhere," Lucius said, pushing back his hat. "What about people with allergies?"

"Mr. Norman makes sure to let every prospective guest know about Jane," Mrs. Featherstone said. "When people with cat allergies come, Jane stays in my cabin."

"She really stays? You said she can get out herself."

"I tell her there's people with allergies and she can't get out," Mrs. Featherstone said. "Anyway, just in case she tries, I lock the door with my cardkey. I usually don't, you know; I only use the latch so she can get it undone."

Lucius shook his head in disbelief.

Jim had to smirk a bit. Lucius had sounded so bewildered when she had first asked him if he had met Long Jane Silver. And she had delighted in telling him all about her precious cat.

"Aren't Persians really valuable cats?" Lucius said now. "Someone might decide to walk off with her."

"She wouldn't let them," Mrs. Featherstone said proudly. "And yes, Silver Persians are especially valuable. They wouldn't be able to enter her in cat shows, though, or at least, not certain ones." She sighed. "The major international cat associations decided that the flat-faced Persians are the only ones that qualify to be recognized as Persians."

"I don't even know much about cats, but flat faces are what I think of when I hear someone say 'Persian'," Lucius admitted.

"And they're not even the original kinds!" Mrs. Featherstone bemoaned. "It's preposterous to have them recognized as the only real Persians! The poor things, they have all kinds of breathing issues too." She shuddered. "I just can't imagine deliberately breeding a cat to go like that!"

"That does sound difficult for the cat," Arte mused, joining the conversation.

"I'm sure it must be!" Mrs. Featherstone nodded emphatically. "Jane, of course, is a traditional Persian. Sometimes they're called doll-faced. It's the perfect moniker! And Jane's is so sweet and expressive. . . ."

By this point Lucius was looking both overwhelmed and exhausted. Arte fell back to talk with Jim alone.

"She's really in top form today," Arte said low. "Good grief, Jim, I don't think I've ever been around her enough to really realize how much she rambles. She's a dear lady, but . . ." He shook his head. "Even I have a limit to how much I can take at once!"

Jim smiled in amusement. "I guess that's why Rodman often tries to avoid talking with her for long."

Arte shook his head. "All I can say is that Lucius really has a plan in mind. Either that or he has patience unlike any I've ever before seen!"

"Or both," said Jim.

They went through the doors into the main lobby, where Georgiana was on the telephone at the desk and Jane was on top of the counter, rolling an uncapped pen across it.

"There's my sweet angel!" Mrs. Featherstone beamed.

Jane looked up and meowed.

Mrs. Featherstone hurried to her and took her in her arms, stroking the soft fur. "Isn't she beautiful?" she gushed. "She loves our special time together, when she has her fur brushed every day. It has to be, you know, since she's a long-haired cat. It can get matted so easily."

"She's pretty, alright," Lucius agreed, biting into an apple.

Jane watched him over Mrs. Featherstone's shoulder, her tail swishing back and forth and her eyes filled with suspicion. This was the second new person today that she did not know what to make of.

"Even the kitty wonders what kind of fellow we've got here," Arte said under his breath.

"When Mrs. Featherstone leaves, we'll have to try to talk to him again," said Jim.

That time came soon enough, as she bid them all goodbye and hurried off with Jane to find Ray or Coley. Jim and Arte turned their attention back to Lucius, who was continuing to eat the apple.

"Well," Arte said, "pray tell, did you find what you were looking for?"

Lucius shrugged. "What makes you think I was looking for anything?"

"We're trained to be observant," Jim grunted. "You were looking for something. Or someone."

"If I was, I don't know why I'd tell you," Lucius replied.

"Don't you think you owe us _something?_" Arte exclaimed. "After all the long hours we've put in watching you and wondering who on earth you are?"

Lucius smirked at him. "You did that on your own," he said. "I didn't tell you to."

"Maybe not, but you were definitely trying to get us interested!" Arte declared.

Jim regarded him with narrowed eyes. "Tell us honestly," he said. "Are you related to Little Pinto?"

Lucius shrugged. "Even if it was true, why I should 'tell you honestly' about it? Your goal is to keep his family line from starting."

"That isn't our specific goal," Arte exclaimed. "Naturally he and Miss Posey couldn't be together if they're arrested, but after everything they've caused, they deserve to be in prison. There's an active warrant out on Miss Posey's arrest."

"Well," Lucius said easily, "I don't believe the past can be changed. And I already know you never do catch either Little Pinto or Miss Posey again. They live to ripe old ages and laugh about both of you in their family albums."

"Oh, how pleasant," Arte said with dripping sarcasm.

"But you'll like this," Lucius went on. "They never do manage to get Miss Posey's idea of consolidated crime going."

"Of course not," said Jim, unfazed. "There's no logical way for all the criminals throughout the world to work together that well without something going wrong."

"I suppose you know what else happens to us, don't you?" Arte said wryly.

"Sure," Lucius shrugged. "But it's public knowledge. You can look it up if you really want to know. Somehow, I'm betting you don't. Or at least, that you'll fight the urge."

"You're probably right," said Jim. "But now you should tell us why you've been so interested in talking with us."

"Why wouldn't I be interested, since I know you're from the past?" Lucius returned.

"He does have a point there," Arte mused. "That's a very good reason to be interested, on principle alone."

"And now I'm going to dinner," Lucius announced. "You're welcome to join me."

"I'd probably lose my appetite," Arte said. "Anyway, how are you even hungry for dinner? You've been eating apples off and on all day!"

"Playing golf takes a lot of energy and focus," Lucius replied smoothly. "I'm ready for dinner, followed by a nice apple-flavored dessert."

"I should have seen that one coming," Arte noted, while Lucius turned and started to stroll down the hall. "And since we _didn't_ eat anything off and on all day, we should be all the hungrier."

"I'm sure we are," Jim said. "Let's go, Arte. I'm sure you'll keep your appetite."

"You know, I'm really sure of it too," Arte mused. "In spite of that strange character."

Jim smiled, laying a hand on Arte's shoulder as they headed off.

xxxx

Coley had long ago left the security room and headed for Ray's office. Ray, trying to work and mostly failing to concentrate due to wondering what was going on, perked up when the door creaked open.

"Coley?" He frowned in concern, seeing how weary and downcast his friend looked. "What happened?"

Coley sighed, sinking down in a chair. "Nothing, really," he grunted. "Lafe isn't interested in going straight. I didn't expect anything else. But it feels like we've just had our last conversation and said our final goodbyes." He ran a hand over his face. "I didn't think it would be this hard."

Ray came around from the desk, resting a hand on Coley's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I never really had anyone else I was very close to, so I can't fully imagine how it feels. I only know how I felt when I thought you were dead and I'd lost you that way and how horrible that was. And of course, that's not the same thing."

Coley nodded. "I don't know which would be worse—losing someone in life or in death."

Ray sighed. ". . . I guess at least, if someone dies as I thought you did, the one still living knows they remained friends to the very end. But . . . if you lose someone in life . . ."

". . . You've lost them as a friend no matter what," Coley muttered.

Ray looked down. "Of course, still being alive, I suppose one couldn't give up on hope altogether. There could always be a chance to repair things."

"One wouldn't want to believe in fake hope, either," Coley returned. "That'd be worse."

He leaned back, gazing up at the ceiling. "Funny . . . I didn't even know I cared about Lafe that much. I mean . . . sure, I didn't want anything to happen to him, and I called him and the other gang members my friends, but it's not like we were that close. We didn't ever really talk like you and I talk. Maybe that was because I was the leader and I figured I couldn't let myself be vulnerable, like I would be if I started talking to Lafe like this." He gave a dark chuckle. "Lafe probably would've thought I was crazy if I'd tried."

Ray half-smiled sadly and then sobered. "You never talked at all about things other than stealing and money and getting away?"

Coley paused. "Oh . . . maybe once or twice. Actually, one time Lafe started it. We were out in the desert between towns, and it was dark and lonely, and . . ." He shrugged. "Somehow that kind of atmosphere loosens tongues."

"I can imagine," Ray declared. He remembered how dark and lonely it had been when they had traveled to the desert outside Justice, Nevada, in search of any clues on opening the portal. Everyone had seemed to open up then; Lucrece and Pinto had even allowed Coley and Ray to see their love for each other.

"And then one other time I started it," Coley continued, "but I was half-drunk at the time, so Lafe probably blamed it on the booze."

Ray looked to Coley in surprise. "It's hard to picture you being drunk," he admitted. "You seem like a responsible drinker any time I've seen you with a bottle."

"It doesn't happen much," Coley agreed. "In fact, that may have been the only time it ever happened." He gazed off at nothing. "But everyone has that point in their life where they just want to forget something. Me, I thought I'd find out if getting drunk would really help it along."

"And did it?"

Coley smirked. "No. I kept thinking about it and blabbed to Lafe. And I still had enough control over myself that I realized I didn't like the thought of _losing_ control, so I stopped trying to get drunk. But I'd already had enough to make me chatty, so I rambled on and on until I dropped off to sleep."

"_Was_ it just the liquor?" Ray wondered. "That made you talk, I mean."

"I've asked myself that same thing," Coley said with a sideways glance. "And I don't think it was. Actually, I think most of it was just that I wanted someone to talk to. Maybe I thought being half-drunk gave me a good excuse to blame it on something else the next day."

"I guess it did." Ray looked down. "What were you so upset about?"

"I'll tell you sometime," Coley said. "Not now, because I don't want to dig it up again yet. But sometime."

Ray nodded. He would certainly respect that, even though he badly wanted to know what could have upset Coley so much back then.

"Anyway . . . about being close to Lafe. . . ." Coley sighed. "After we'd all gone our separate ways to stay alive, it didn't take long for me to realize how lonely it was. Everywhere I went, no matter how many people I ran into, I was really alone. I couldn't get close to anyone, not if I wanted to stay free.

"I started seriously missing the whole gang and the things we did to pass the time—the card games, Lafe's bad luck . . ." He chuckled. "Lafe only ever got a good hand when we had to stop playing for some reason."

Ray smirked a bit.

"So . . . three-odd years of being all alone and I was more than ready to quit." Coley sat up straight. "It bothers me that Lafe _doesn't_ want to quit. Maybe I kind of wonder what he missed more—me or the loot. But I don't know that he ever felt that close to me, even if he did look up to me at one time. And I can't blame him for not feeling close to me. I never really tried to be close to him."

Ray had no chance to reply. The door suddenly flew open as Lafe ran into the room, his eyes filled with panic. "Coley!" he exclaimed. He shut the door behind him. "They're going to kill you!"

Coley stared, getting up from the chair. Ray's jaw dropped.

"What are you talking about, Lafe?" Coley demanded. "Who's going to kill me?"

"I don't know!" Lafe insisted. "I just heard these two people talking about you in a park. They want to kill you and blame your friend Norman for it!" He glanced at Ray, who was stiffening in shock and fury.

Coley's eyes burned. "What do these people have against us?" he wanted to know.

Lafe shook his head. "It sounded like they were running some kind of crooked deal right here in the club," he said. "I don't think they had anything personal against you or Norman, Coley; they just thought you'd stumble on the truth and they wanted to get you out of the way."

Ray finally found his voice. "What did they look like?" he asked.

"I couldn't see what the one person looked like," Lafe admitted. "I'm not even sure if it was a man or a woman! They were fixed up with a scarf and their voice was muffled.

"But I saw the other one." He quickly described the first person as best as he could. Ray and Coley listened, exchanging concerned glances.

"Didn't that person check in here today or yesterday?" Coley frowned.

"Yes!" Ray exclaimed. "They're planning to stay for the whole weekend."

"And they want to spend it trying to kill me and blame you." Coley was angry. "We'll get to the bottom of this."

He looked to Lafe, softening as he spoke next. "You came back to warn me. Thanks. I promise we won't let them know the news came from you."

Lafe nodded. "I know you won't betray me, Coley. But are you sure you can handle this? I mean, I'd be glad to stay and help."

Both Ray and Coley paused. Ray looked to Coley with an _It's your choice_ expression.

Coley finally nodded. "If you want to, Lafe, then stick around. I might need you."

Lafe smiled, happy to be of use.

Ray smiled too, very briefly. Although his predominant feelings were worry and anger over what they had been told, he was grateful for the news and glad that Lafe had cared enough to bring it.

Maybe, as he had expressed to Coley, there _was_ still hope for their friendship.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Dinner found Lucius attempting to become acquainted with the Stones. Jim and Arte observed from a different table as they ate.

"It's interesting, how he keeps managing to turn the conversation topics away from him," Jim remarked. "He learns all about them, but they learn almost nothing about him."

"And the only thing _we've_ learned is that he owns an apple orchard somewhere in the Midwest," Arte sighed. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"Probably for the same reason it doesn't surprise _me,_" Jim said.

They both looked up as Ray, Coley, and Lafe hurried into the dining room, all looking tense and concerned. The trio stopped near the doorway, studying the patrons as if searching for someone in particular.

"I wonder what's gone wrong now," Arte frowned.

Jim was already starting to push back his chair. "I don't know, but maybe we can help," he suggested. "Come on, Arte."

They made their way over to the others. Ray was the first to notice them.

"Mr. West, Mr. Gordon!" His eyes were filled with worry. "Have you seen a woman with long blonde hair and a floral-print scarf?"

"Why, no," Arte said in amazement, "but she sounds charming."

"Charming, sure," Coley grunted. "She'll charm you right into the grave."

Jim stiffened. "What's wrong?" he demanded.

"Such a woman has been given orders to kill Coley," Ray said in anger. "And I'm supposed to get the blame for it!"

"I don't see her here," Lafe said. "Maybe she hasn't come back yet."

"I don't know whether to say that's good or bad," Arte frowned.

Ray dug into his pocket for his master cardkey. "She could always be using one of the private dining rooms," he said. "Or she might be in her cabin or room."

"Exactly what would you say to her if you found her?" Jim wondered. "She'd only deny your allegations about Rodman."

"I know, but what can I do?" Ray exclaimed. "We can't just ignore this and wait for her to try to kill him!"

"No, we can't," Arte agreed. "That would be far too dangerous for Coley. But if we could find out _why_ she's supposed to kill him, maybe we could approach this from a better angle."

"It sounds like her boss thinks I'm going to find out about something illegal they're doing here at the club," Coley frowned. "And that could be almost anything."

"Then I'd say the first thing to do is start rounding up your security guards and question them about anything the slightest bit out of the ordinary," said Arte.

Coley nodded. "I'm going to do that," he said.

"Hey, Coley." Lafe grabbed his arm. "You don't think maybe they're after those jewels?"

Coley looked to him. "They could be," he acknowledged. "What do you think? You're the one who heard them. Did it sound like a onetime job or something on-going?"

Lafe paused, thinking. "I guess it really sounded like it was more than just a onetime thing," he said. "But I could be wrong, especially when there's all those stones just ripe for the taking." His eyes glittered with his own temptations. "I can't believe I'd be the only one to think about grabbing them."

"Maybe you're not," Coley said. "I don't know, though; it seems to me that a murder and a frame job would be a lot of work to go through for a onetime deal. Most jewel thieves try to get the stuff out without anybody getting hurt. If anyone does, it's something that's not planned and just happens in the heat of the act."

"Are you speaking from personal experience?" Arte queried. "Just out of curiosity, mind you."

Coley shrugged. "I could be," he said. "Or maybe I'm just thinking about some people I know. Anyway, that's not important right now."

"No, it isn't," Ray nodded. "I'm inclined to think that it wouldn't be a onetime thing, either, except for one thing that's bothering me." He ran a hand through his hair. "What kind of operation could anyone possibly be trying to run here?! And how _are_ they doing it right under our noses?"

"Maybe you're thinking about the wrong kind of onetime thing."

Everyone jumped a mile. Lucius had somehow managed to come up behind them without any of them realizing it. Now he was leaning on both Ray and Coley with his arms, looking from one to the other. Neither looked pleased.

"What are you talking about, Mr. Bowen?" Ray asked, slipping out from under the arm.

Coley pushed the other arm right off his shoulder. "And how much did you hear?"

"Enough." Lucius studied the group in thoughtfulness. "Nobody else is listening, don't worry. But where can we talk in private?"

"In my office," Ray offered. "I hope."

"Good," Lucius nodded. "Then let's go there."

They slipped out of the dining room, making their way to Ray's office. When they arrived, Jane was sitting on a chair and Mrs. Featherstone had scribbled a note.

_Gone to dinner and maybe a card game. Here's Jane!_

Lucius glanced at the note and then at the cat. "She's going to stay a while?"

Jane meowed.

"She won't tell any secrets, even if she does hear and understand them," Ray said with an amused smile.

Lucius didn't relax. "Check her collar for bugs," he ordered. "I'll start going over the rest of the room."

Ray shut the door. "Now, just a minute," he exclaimed. "You can't be saying you think Mrs. Featherstone bugged my office!"

"If not her, someone else could have," Lucius shrugged. "The door was unlocked, wasn't it?"

Ray frowned, his fire fading. "Well . . . yes. But why would anyone bug my office?!"

"Maybe to find out if someone knows more than they should," Lucius said calmly. "Such as you or Mr. Rodman."

That was enough to start everyone cooperating with him. Ray inspected Jane, while Coley looked over Ray's trophies and Jim and Arte tackled the walls. Lucius started on Ray's desk.

Lafe stood by, baffled. "What are we looking for?" he asked. "Why is everyone so uptight over bugs?"

"Not insects," Coley grunted. "They're . . . somethingthat lets you hear conversations you're not supposed to hear."

"Oh." Lafe still looked puzzled. "Like those windows let you watch people?"

"Something like that," Coley said. "Only those 'windows' are legal."

Ray sighed. "Well, these listening devices are technically legal too, or at least, they're not _il_legal. It's just the way some people use them that's a crime."

"What do they look like?" Lafe asked, not liking just having to stand by and do nothing.

"Coming to think of it . . ." Coley paused and looked to Ray. "_I_ don't even know what they look like."

"They come in all kinds of shapes and sizes," Ray said, suddenly seeming uncomfortable about the topic. "Some of them probably even do look like insects."

But the room appeared to be bug-free, and at last Lucius relaxed.

"Okay," he said, sitting on the edge of Ray's desk. "Now what I was wondering is whether your place is being used as an espionage drop."

"Espionage?" Ray scoffed. "This isn't the Cold War or a James Bond movie."

Lucius smirked. "Espionage didn't end with the breaking up of the Berlin Wall. If anything, it's just more worldwide now than ever before. Counter-spy organizations are busy bees in this day and age."

Ray sighed, rubbing his forehead. "You're right, of course. This is just so much to take in. What would spies be doing here? Smuggling information?"

"Could be," Lucius agreed. "Or meeting other spies in a harmless environment."

"Wait just a minute," Arte interjected. "Who are you, really? You sound as though you really know what you're talking about."

Jim nodded. "Are you looking for the spies?" he asked.

"Maybe you're one of them," Arte frowned, "and you're just trying to give us a bum steer."

Lucius reached into his vest pocket. "If we're going to get anywhere, I guess I'll have to introduce myself, even though I didn't really want to." He pulled out a billfold and opened it, revealing the identification inside.

Jim took it from him. "Agent of the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement," he read.

"U.N.C.L.E.," Lucius smirked. "When I was recruited, I asked my boss if they had a sister organization called A.U.N.T. He said No."

Arte was still not convinced. "You _are_ related to Little Pinto, are you not?" He narrowed his eyes. "And you seem to think very highly of him. I can't figure out why any upright organization would hire the likes of you."

Lucius shrugged. "They'll hire anyone if they need 'em badly enough," he said. "And they really needed me. They still do; we haven't caught the whole spy ring I was originally brought in to get."

"Uh huh. And what will happen to you if that happy day ever arrives?" Arte wondered.

"I'll probably keep working for them," Lucius mused. "The pay's good. And most of what I do isn't that different from what I did before I joined them. The so-called 'good guys' need hitmen too, you know."

Arte exhaled. "Unfortunately."

"And working for their side, I don't have to think about getting arrested for what I usually end up having to do," Lucius added. "It makes more sense all around."

Coley had started to tense at the first mention of Lucius's profession. Now he took several steps back, crossing his arms and glowering. Most everyone noticed, but only Ray suspected why. Coley did not like hired guns. His father had been one, and of the variety that did not care for whom he worked. Coley may have trained himself to be alright with shooting a man if it came down to one of them dying, but as far as killing people for a living, he was repulsed by it, and even moreso by attitudes of nonchalance or enjoyment from those engaged in it.

Ray quietly placed a hand on his shoulder. At first nothing happened, but then the stiff muscles slowly began to relax. Coley was not okay with Lucius's presence, but he would try to cope with it in light of the bigger problem.

Lafe averted his eyes, unable to avoid the prick in his heart. Yes, he was jealous. Coley had something with Ray that Lafe doubted Coley had ever had with him. And Coley had been with Lafe a lot longer. What was it with him and this Norman character? What made Norman such a more desirable friend? It couldn't just be that they were now both on the straight and narrow; so were the Secret Service men, and Coley wasn't as close to them as he was to Ray, either.

If Lucius noticed the silent conflicts going on among some of his audience, he gave no heed. "Well, now that that's out of the way, let's get back to the problem." He looked from Arte to Ray.

"I'm not sure it _is_ out of the way," Jim spoke up. "You could have forged that identification card to try to make us believe that you're on our side." He laid one hand over the other. "I, for one, want proof."

Lucius fished in his shirt pocket and pulled out a strange, pen-like object. "I can contact my boss," he said. "But even if you talked to him, you wouldn't know if somebody was pretending to be him, would you?"

"He _does_ have a point there, Jim," Arte conceded. "How would we know?" He threw his hands in the air. "This seems to be a pointless cause!"

Ray sighed. "U.N.C.L.E. does use communication devices like that," he said. "I've never had any personal contact with their agents before, but I have seen a few around now and then."

"Nevermind calling the boss on that thing," Coley grunted. "How about this? Find a number that you know is for this organization and call it. Then explain what's going on, at least a little bit, and ask them if they really have an agent working for them called Lucius Bowen. Describe him and ask if it matches. Maybe there's some special way to identify him that a fake wouldn't know about."

Lafe had to smile a bit. Coley was still taking charge of any situation in which he found himself. At least that was the same.

"That's good," Arte acknowledged with a nod. "What do you think, Jim?"

Jim grabbed for a phone book. "Let's do it."

Lucius leaned back, willing to go along with this. "I try to keep my real identity separate from my codename," he said. "Most people don't know that we're one and the same. So you might try mentioning that I call myself Pinto."

"I will," said Jim, shooting him a Look at the information.

Arte also stared. Jim's suspicions were apparently correct.

Jim soon discovered that Lucius's boss was just as cautious as he himself, Jim, wanted to be. He got next to nowhere after being supposedly put on the phone with the man. It was only after Ray took the phone that they finally began to have some luck.

"He's confirming your identity to me," Ray said to Lucius after a moment, as he placed his hand over the mouthpiece. "He said he knows about me and figured I'd be worried if I learned what you're doing here. But he doesn't know anything about Mr. West and didn't want to tell him."

"That makes sense," Jim said.

"Only how does he know about you?" Arte wondered.

"Research," Lucius interjected. "He didn't just study the bare-bones facts before he sent me out; I think he learned everything he possibly could about Mr. Norman." He gestured to the phone. "Tell him I'll call him on my communicator. Lafe, maybe you can describe the people you saw to him. He'll have someone try to match the descriptions up with known criminals in our database."

"Sure, I'll tell him," Lafe said slowly. "But you'll have to show me how to work that thing."

"That's simple enough," Lucius said. "You just pull it up like this and talk." He held up his communicator and demonstrated.

"Weird," Lafe frowned. "But I can do that."

Both he and Ray complied with their respective assignments. By the time they got off of their various communication devices, the information was on its way to the U.N.C.L.E. database.

Coley was holding and petting Jane by that point. "Look, Bowen, don't you know anything about the spies you're supposed to catch?" he asked.

"No," Lucius shook his head. "Except that they're here. And there's a chance they're working with someone on the staff. I was taking a chance by telling you and Mr. Norman."

"Your boss doesn't seem worried, at least about me being trustworthy," Ray remarked.

"He's not," Lucius shrugged. "I'm just a cynic. But a lot of the time it pays off."

Ray sighed. "It'll be harder for you to investigate when you're not able to stay here around the clock," he said.

"I know," Lucius nodded. "I guess there haven't been any cancellations?"

"None," Ray replied. "I suppose it's because it's so close to the holidays. People want to come here for the last weekend before Christmas."

Saying it aloud made him suddenly realize how close the day was. The entire holiday season had been surreal, with Coley's arrival and everything that had taken place since. But it had also been the best holiday season Ray had spent in years. There was still an ache in his heart from his problems with his parents, but he was most thankful that this year he had a loyal friend to be with.

"Look," Coley said suddenly, glancing to Lucius. "Since you and Lafe tipped us off about something being wrong here, my boys and I will definitely be on the lookout. West and Gordon too, I'm sure. So if anything goes wrong, at least one of us should see it. And we could let you know."

"You might see it and then be dead," Lucius replied. "And I'm not a medium."

"That's not funny," Ray snapped.

"Good, because it's not meant to be." Lucius came down from the desk. "This is serious business. You, none of you have ever dealt with anything like this before, except maybe Mr. West and Mr. Gordon."

"You're right, we haven't." Coley went and stood in front of him. "But this is our business now. It's going on right where we work and live. Someone wants me _dead._ I've got a right to know who and why, and to look into it myself. I'm not a spy, but I've had to deal with a lot of people who've wanted me dead. Most of them have died trying." He paused. "And anyway, since you can't be everywhere at once, I don't think you've got much choice but to accept that I'll be investigating too."

"And us," Jim said. Arte nodded.

"And me," Ray said.

"I want to help too," Lafe added. "Coley doesn't deserve this."

Lucius sighed, pushing back his hat. "Unfortunately, you're right," he said to Coley. "At least about me being unable to be everywhere at once. So I guess I'll have to accept that you're going to be poking your nose into this mess. But I won't take the responsibility if you get hurt or die because of it."

"Good, because it's not your responsibility," Coley retorted.

Ray folded his arms. "You must have _some_ suspects by now," he said.

Lucius's lips curled in a dark smirk. "Right now, Mr. Norman, _everyone's_ a suspect."

"Including us, still?" Ray exclaimed.

Lucius shrugged. "I'll try to accept my boss's ideas there," he said. "But don't think that doesn't mean I won't be watching you, all of you, anyway."

"We wouldn't dream of it," Arte said dryly.

Jim paused. "By the way, yesterday Mrs. Stone received a very odd communication from someone." He watched Lucius closely for his reaction. "It was a note that said 'Beware of codename Pinto.' It didn't happen to be referring to you, did it?"

Lucius froze. "It could be," he said. "I couldn't figure her or her husband out at dinner. They were friendly enough, but really just as evasive as I was being."

"I can't believe they're the spies," Ray frowned. "And if the note meant you, that's the direction it's pointing in, isn't it?"

"Maybe," Lucius said noncommittally. "I'll have to look into it more."

"It also indicates that someone higher up in their organization might be on to you," Arte said. "You'd better be careful yourself."

"As long as the people here just know me as Lucius Bowen, I should be fine," Lucius replied. "Unless one of you really is part of the operation and you'll tell them that I'm Pinto." He gave everyone in the room a searching glare.

"None of us will talk," Coley said flatly. "We're on the level."

"You'd better be," Lucius nodded. "I'll hold you to it."

He headed for the door, pausing to glance at the calendar on the wall. He traced his finger to the current date, his expression thoughtful.

"What are you checking up on, Mr. Bowen?" Arte asked. "Something else you supposedly know about?"

Lucius nodded, placing his hands in his pockets. "Let's say I'm sorting out a discrepancy I was never sure what to make of before," he said. "And leave it at that." He opened the door and stepped into the hall. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Ray returned. "You'll be back tomorrow, I assume."

"Bright and early," Lucius smiled.

Coley grunted, watching him head up the corridor and out of sight. "_That_ was interesting," he muttered. Jane, still in his arms, meowed.

"Interesting indeed," Arte sighed, as Jim pulled the door shut again. "He certainly does have shades of Little Pinto's personality."

"While at the same time having a much larger vocabulary," Jim intoned.

"And he's very much a man of this time," Ray mused. "No matter how much Pinto integrates himself into this time period, he still ultimately belongs to two times."

"Lucius Bowen is also very much a professional killer," Coley said. "I know those kinds of top-secret agencies have to have them, but how they'd end up hiring _that_ one is what puzzles me. He's got a crooked background, regardless of whether he's related to Pinto. I can tell by the way he acts."

"Maybe we'll have to ask his boss more about that," Ray said.

"Or you will, anyway," Coley returned. "He feels okay about you."

Ray nodded. "I'll call him again."

"And maybe we'll just start strolling around the club, looking for anything out of the ordinary," Arte said, heading for the door.

Jim went with him. "Let us know if something _does_ go wrong," he said to Ray and Coley. "Bowen is right about one thing—we've dealt with espionage before. Even if it _was_ in another time period."

"We'll let you know," Ray promised. "If we possibly can."

Jim and Arte departed in the next moment, leaving the other four alone. Silence filled the room for a brief moment before any of them spoke again.

"I wish I could stay on, Coley," Lafe said. "I'd cancel my hotel room and come here, if there was anything free."

Coley nodded, deeply touched by Lafe's concern. "There's the employees only rooms," he said. "They're mostly all free. But if somebody new actually moved in like that, it might just draw suspicion. And it could put you in a lot of danger as well as me and maybe even Ray."

"Even if I pretended to really be working here?" Lafe wondered.

"I'm afraid so," Ray said. "They'd wonder why we hired someone new right now."

Coley was in agreement. "They might have already noticed you and are keeping their eyes on you."

Lafe sighed. "Well, if you feel it's better for me to stay away, I will."

"I don't think you'd have to altogether," Coley said. "There's so many people hanging around for the weekend. Anyway, we can just pass you off as an old friend of mine and you decided to come visit now because of the holidays." He looked at Lafe. "At least the first part of that's true, isn't it?"

Lafe regarded him in surprise. "Yeah," he stammered then. "Yeah, it's true."

Coley smiled. "Just go on back to your hotel for now and relax. Come back tomorrow morning and we'll try to figure out what else we can do."

Lafe finally smiled a bit as well. "Okay," he said. "I'll do that. But you stay safe until then, Coley. I'll be counting on that."

"I'll be fine," Coley replied.

He and Ray observed as Lafe departed. "How about that," Coley mused. "It didn't all get torn down after all."

"He really does act genuinely worried about you," Ray agreed.

"He means everything he's saying," Coley said emphatically.

"Then you're not still worried that he'll try to steal Mrs. Stone's jewels?" Ray wondered.

Coley paused, gazing into the distance. "I guess what I worried about more was that he would've changed how he thought about me," he said. "If he didn't respect me anymore, he wouldn't care if he took the jewels. But he hasn't changed, so I don't think he'll betray me like that. It's a nice feeling."

He glanced to Ray. "Do _you_ figure he's not telling the truth?"

Ray stiffened. "I don't like to say," he said. "You know him and I don't. I guess I can't help but wonder if maybe he made up that story about what he heard because he's trying to get back into your good graces. But then I'd wonder how he managed to perfectly describe one of the guests here, who arrived after he left that first time."

"Yeah." Coley petted Jane's head as she shifted position, placing her front paws on his shoulder. "I just can't feature Lafe making it all up. That's not the kind of guy he is."

"I'll trust your opinion," Ray said. "I honestly hope it will work out for both of you. I don't want to see you lose a friend."

Coley stared into the distance again. "I didn't even really think about it before, with Lafe anyway; I guess because I thought I'd never see him again. But I don't want to lose him, either."

He fell silent once more. ". . . You acted uncomfortable when you were telling me about those bug things," he said at last, stroking Jane.

Ray sighed. "I know. It's because I'm very familiar with them. They were a part of my blackmail operations. I'd hire a crooked private eye to bug people's rooms, recording everything that was said in them. Then I'd listen to the tapes and get my blackmail material. I'd even have the detective bug _my_ room, to throw suspicion off of me."

"You thought of everything," Coley remarked.

"Except how it would haunt me later," Ray muttered.

"I was kind of wondering how Everly fit into the mess back East," Coley said. "When he was first dead, they ran a piece on you again and mentioned that it was a bunch of showgirls who got blackmailed in that first golf club." He shook his head. "You'd already heard so many pieces on you by that point, and you were upset right then because I was still hurt from what Everly did, so I didn't see any point in bringing it up at the time."

"Everly was their manager," Ray explained. "It _was_ mostly the showgirls who were blackmailed. He was the only other one.

"I think that bothered my parents too, when they found out," he reflected. "That out of all the guests there, I picked the group of showgirls, figuring they'd especially have a lot of juicy blackmail material because of their lifestyles."

Coley let Jane jump down and she went to Ray, rubbing against him. "And did they?"

"Oh yes. And Everly did too, of course. That's how his life fell apart, from him trying so hard to keep the material from getting out." Ray watched Jane, smiling a bit.

Coley hesitated. ". . . What do you think would happen if somebody else tried talking to your parents?" he asked then. "I mean . . . would it just make it worse?"

Ray looked up. "Somebody like you?" He smiled, genuinely touched.

Coley shrugged. "Probably me."

"I don't know," Ray answered honestly. "It might help, or it might make it worse, or it might do nothing at all." He sighed. "You've seen what some of those tabloids have been printing about you and what you're doing here. If my parents have heard about any of that . . . well, they might not be willing to talk to you in the first place. I wouldn't be surprised if they think you're an old partner in crime, come back to accompany me on new adventures in law-breaking. Or maybe they think you're a new partner in crime that I dredged up somewhere."

Coley frowned. "I wouldn't want to bother with calling them if it'd just cause more trouble for you."

"It might not," Ray was quick to say. "They're just so unpredictable now."

Coley exclaimed, "Didn't they even come out when you were brought back alive from Portman's place?!"

"Yes, they did," Ray nodded. "But it wasn't much of a reunion, with me tied up in mental knots because of what that witch did and them not sure what to even make of me. After I was in the sanitarium, it didn't take them long to go back East."

"Some family," Coley muttered. "Maybe you're better off without them."

"Maybe I am," Ray agreed. "I've tried to tell myself that. But in the end, I just keep longing so badly to resolve things with them. I don't want to be estranged from my own parents.

"I do envy you, Coley," he admitted. "You have a mother who never stopped actively caring about you, no matter what you did with your life."

Coley looked down. "Yeah."

"You'll be able to see her soon, one way or another," Ray said. "I'm sure of it."

"I hope so," Coley said. "But I'm not giving up on your problem, either."

"I know you won't," Ray said. "Who knows—maybe a phone call from you would be the best thing that could happen. They might listen to you, with you being an outside source."

"Do you want me to try?" Coley asked.

"I think it should be your decision," said Ray. "But . . . yes, I would appreciate anything you could do to try to help."

"Then I'll do it," Coley said. "Maybe tomorrow, after I've had a chance to get my thoughts together."

Ray smiled. "Thank you."

Jane rubbed against Ray some more and meowed.

"Thank me if it works," Coley said. "It might not."

"I'd know you tried your best," Ray said. "That's all anyone can do."

He reached down, petting Jane.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

It was kind of funny, Pinto mused to himself. Considering all they'd seen and all they'd done in both time periods, some of the board members were still highly disturbed by assorted modern devices (while loving others).

Cyril was nuts about the toaster. He loved to toast slices of bread, leaning over and watching the red wires until the toast popped up. Sometimes he would toast entire loaves at once, all because he wanted to keep playing with the toaster and seeing the bread get toasted.

But he was extremely uneasy about the blender and actually somewhat afraid of the vacuum cleaner. Any time the thing was turned on, he curled his feet up under him on the couch or the chair or wherever he happened to be sitting, as though he feared being sucked into the vacuum himself.

Sergei did not like the concept of the electric razor. Maybe he was worried that it would come to life and clip off his mustache, which he was very proud of. He also did not like the electric toothbrush, which he seemed to fear would go out of control in his mouth and result in him swallowing it.

But he was enamored by anything and everything that existed for the purpose of food preservation. He practically worshiped the refrigerator. Pinto had joked about him being the founder of the Church of the Fridge.

Pinto himself doubted that he was afraid of or uneasy about any of the modern technology. It all had so many interesting purposes, both what it was intended to do and what other purposes Pinto could come up with in his sadistic mind. He imagined that he could turn just about any device into an instrument of torture if he put enough thought into it.

Sometimes he teased Cyril about the blender, but that was all in fun and never to harm. Lucrece did not want any in-fighting, and torturing the other board members would certainly come under a sub-category of that. Anyway, Pinto was fond of the crew and didn't want to hurt them.

He looked up as Lucrece wandered into the kitchen. She was moving slowly to keep steady; it was obvious to Pinto that she was touching the wall and then the stove in order to stay balanced, although she tried to make it look casual and unnecessary.

He pushed himself away from the wall and went to her. "Aee you still feeling okay being up?" he asked in honest but gentle concern.

"Better than I would have several hours ago," Lucrece said dryly. She let him take her and steer her to the table. Sinking down on the nearest chair, she leaned back and watched him sit next to her.

"It's quiet tonight," she observed. "I'm not sure if that's good or bad."

Pinto smirked. "Well, at least Cyril's not trying to toast every slice of bread in the house again."

Lucrece smirked too. "Did he miss one last time?"

"Sergei hid some from him that he wanted for his sandwiches," Pinto replied. "I dunno how long he'll be successful at that."

"Hmm. Not long, if Cyril has anything to say about it," Lucrece mused.

"Well, if he dips into Sergei's private stash, there's gonna be fireworks," Pinto drawled. "And we can't have that." Certainly a commotion was the last thing Lucrece needed tonight, while she was still recovering from her headache.

"No, we certainly can't," said Lucrece.

"If it starts, I'll stop it," Pinto declared. "You just rest."

Lucrece smiled. "And you won't further the problems by tormenting Cyril with the blender?" she said sweetly.

"Aww, I wasn't really doing anything to him," Pinto protested. "Just mixing up stuff while he was around."

"Knowing that it would make him nervous," Lucrece said.

"Well . . ." Pinto trailed off. There was no hiding anything from Lucrece.

"Honestly, Pinto." Lucrece sighed. "Leave the poor man alone. If it's just an accident that he walks in on you operating the blender, fine. But don't deliberately try to agitate him with that machine."

"What if I get a hankering for something while he's hanging around?"

"Tell him you're going to use the blender. Give him a chance to leave."

Pinto sighed too. "Well, alright." He pushed back his hat. "You know I'd never really hurt him, though, don't you, Lucrece? I'm right fond of him."

"Yes, I know. But he doesn't like being teased. And you know I like things to run smoothly around here."

Pinto laid his hand over hers. "I know. Okay, no more teasing."

She gave a genuine smile now. "Good."

Pinto leaned back. "We've got a real problem, though," he mused. "West and Gordon know where we're living now."

"That, in addition to Florence also knowing where we're living." Lucrece looked disgusted. Pinto wondered if she was more upset about them all knowing the location or them having seen her in a dazed and injured condition.

"So we still need to move," Pinto said.

Lucrece nodded. "And someplace far from here, where we won't be likely to be traced."

"But we're still planning to stay in this time period, aren't we?" Pinto wondered.

"As far as I'm concerned, yes. Besides, there is that pesky warrant out for my arrest back home. And, as Mr. Rodman discovered, there aren't any warrants here."

"Yeah," Pinto mused. "Of course, that's only if we're not caught doing illegal things."

"Well." Lucrece leaned in, kissing him on the lips. "I'm not planning to be caught. Are you?"

Pinto returned it. "Nope."

"Then we'll be fine." Lucrece ran her hand down his arm.

"What about the wedding?" Pinto wondered. "Should we have that before or after the move?"

"I've been thinking about that." Lucrece leaned back. "Either would work, but moving is such a time-consuming annoyance. Perhaps we should get it out of the way first. Of course, we don't have to worry about taking the furniture, since it was already here, but we have collected some assorted belongings we'd have to pack."

"Not to mention finding a place."

"At this point, I'd say we should take the first pre-furnished home for rent with enough rooms that we come across," said Lucrece. "Providing that it's far away enough."

"If we have the wedding first, that's one less room we'll need," Pinto said. "We'll be sharing one."

Lucrece smiled. "That's something to think about."

"How are we going to do that, anyway? Just waltz into the first church we find and say we want to get married?"

"At least _some_ churches should allow walk-in marriage ceremonies," Lucrece mused. "But so we don't waste time, perhaps we should call a few places and make sure we pick one that does."

"Sounds good to me," Pinto agreed.

She tilted her head. "Have you ever _been_ in a church?"

"When I was a kid, sure," Pinto said. "But you'd probably do better talking with them than I would."

"I was thinking the same thing," Lucrece nodded.

"Do you feel up to it, though?" Pinto asked in concern.

"I should by tomorrow," Lucrece said.

"I'll find some listings for churches and have them ready then," Pinto decided. "Do we want one of those that's far from here too?"

"I don't know if it would do any good," Lucrece said in annoyance, "since all of our enemies also seem to be aware that we're in a relationship."

"Good point," Pinto nodded.

"But if we chose one farther away, there would be less of a chance of Florence or her men deciding to crash it," Lucrece mused.

"Do you really think they would?" Pinto blinked.

"We didn't think she'd attack us out of revenge, and she did _that,_" Lucrece replied.

"She sure did," Pinto frowned.

"So now I won't put anything past her, even something as juvenile as disrupting a wedding."

"I'll use that Google Maps thing and find some far away from here," Pinto promised. "That's a handy little thing."

"So are a lot of things here," Lucrece said.

Pinto leaned back, staring thoughtfully into the distance. "You know, West and Gordon were talking about a funny message somebody at the golf club got," he said. "It said 'Beware of Codename Pinto.' I didn't know anybody else called himself that."

"Nor did I," Lucrece frowned. "Did they say anything else about it?"

"They were talking to Brutus about it," Pinto said. "I think the only other thing he said was that the person who got it was named Stone."

"That definitely doesn't sound familiar," Lucrece declared.

"That's what Brutus told them. We don't know any Stones." Pinto crossed his arms. "I've gotta say, though, I'm awfully curious over who else might be using my name."

"It could be anybody," Lucrece said. "And it probably has nothing whatsoever to do with you."

"Probably," Pinto said amiably. "But don't tell me you're not the least bit curious about it."

"Alright," Lucrece relented. "It _is_ odd, there's no question about that. But I would be inclined to believe it's just a coincidence."

"You could be right," Pinto nodded.

"Do you hope it _isn't_ a coincidence?" Lucrece had to ask.

"I don't know that I particularly hope anything about it one way or another," Pinto said. "But it might be kind of nice if it's not a coincidence." He grinned in mischief. "It could be some kind of tribute."

"And who would pay tribute to a devious criminal?"

"No one I can think of, except another devious criminal." Pinto was still grinning.

"Of course," said Lucrece. "Who else."

xxxx

Lucius lay back on his bed in the motel, opening his communication device to make his final report of the day. "Open Channel D," he said.

"Channel D, open," came the efficient voice back.

"This is Lucius Bowen, calling Alexander Waverly," Lucius said.

The older man's voice came over the microphone now. "Alexander Waverly here. What's happening, Mr. Bowen? Have you learned anything?"

"Yeah," Lucius frowned. "And it's something you won't like. I'm not jumping for joy about it, either."

"Well, for Heaven's sake, Mr. Bowen! What is it?"

"Somebody warned some guests named Stone about 'Codename Pinto'," Lucius announced. "Someone knows Pinto and Lucius Bowen are the same person. And someone knows what Lucius Bowen does for a living."

"It does sound that way, doesn't it," Waverly frowned. "So it seems likely they're the spies, then, or at least among them."

"Yeah," Lucius said slowly. "They _did_ act strange at dinner. They were both really vague whenever I asked them questions."

"And yet you don't believe this is such a cut-and-dry case, do you, Mr. Bowen?"

"No, I don't." Lucius rolled onto his stomach. "I've seen too many weird things on cases. A lot of the time they're not cut-and-dry, especially when it seems like they should be."

"Well said." Waverly sighed. "Do whatever you feel you must. But remember, if at all possible . . ."

"The spies are to be left alive for questioning. I know. Don't worry! I'm not a trigger-happy idiot. I follow orders to the letter whenever I can."

"If you didn't, it never would have been acceptable to hire you," Waverly admitted. "Alright, Mr. Bowen. Take care of yourself."

"I am. Channel D, out."

Lucius closed the device and slipped it back into his pocket. Hopefully he would get a good night's sleep. He would need to be well-rested for the long day tomorrow. He had yet to locate the spies for absolute certainty. That could take some time, longer than just another day.

And he would have to look out for Ray, Coley, and the Secret Service agents as much as possible, since they were bound and determined to actively search.

He paused. He also had to decide whether he was going to seek out his ancestors. Naturally he supposed that he would not be able to tell them who he was, but he would simply just like to see them in any case, maybe even to casually talk to them for a few minutes.

Still, as he had decided before, that really had to come after his mission was complete. As a professional, he always put his work first.

xxxx

Jim was staring blankly at the television screen in the recreation room when Arte wandered in with Ray and Coley in tow. On the screen, yellow and pink creatures were running around babbling about something or another.

"And just what, may I ask, is that?" Arte queried.

"I think I found the yellow sponge show," Jim answered flatly.

"Uh huh," Arte nodded. "That _is_ what it looks like, alright. Is there anything else to watch?"

"I don't know," Jim said. "I saw some weird show about a town populated by yellow people. The kids all had spiked heads."

Arte winced. "That sounds uncomfortable, to say the least."

"Why is everything yellow?" Coley grunted. "Is there some kind of obsession with yellow things in this time period?"

Ray chuckled. "I don't think so."

Jane, padding along at their feet, meowed.

"The most interesting-looking thing on right now is something about pastel-colored horses," Jim continued. "I'm not sure whether that's good or bad."

Arte raised an eyebrow. "And how did the horses get pastel-colored?" he wondered. "Did they fall in some vats of paint?"

"It seems to be normal in their world," Jim said.

"And _this_ is a very _strange_ world," Arte declared. He sat down in a recliner with the day's newspaper. "Fascinating, but strange."

Jim flipped off the television. "Arte . . ."

"Hmm?"

"I was just thinking. Now that the Posey gang knows we know where they are, they're probably not going to stay there for much longer."

"They probably won't," Arte sighed, turning the page. "And since we felt we needed to find out what's going on with that codename Pinto message, and now know that one of our friends' lives is in danger, what are we going to do about the Posey gang?"

"I'd say they're not an immediate problem compared to this other," Jim said. "It would take them a long time to start setting up their crime syndicate. We should have this problem taken care of much sooner than that."

"Yes, but will we be able to find where they've gone much sooner than that?" Arte quipped.

"It shouldn't be that hard. We've found missing people before."

Ray sat on another chair while Coley and Jane claimed a second couch. "As much as I detest that gang, especially Pinto, I agree that we shouldn't be worrying about them right now," Ray said. "At least they're not currently threatening Coley's life."

"And the mysterious woman who's supposed to be trying to kill him can't be found anywhere in the club," Arte frowned.

"Even though she registered," Coley muttered. "No one else has gone in her room, either."

"This does pose a problem," Arte mused.

"No kidding. And the guards haven't seen anything weird." Coley covered his eyes with a hand. "They're not stupid any more, so not much gets past them."

"Could one of the spies have infiltrated into them?" Jim wondered.

"No," Coley frowned. "I know them all; I trust them all." He checked himself and sighed. "But I'll keep an eye on them anyway," he added grudgingly.

"And I suppose I'll have to try to warm up to the idea that the Stones might be involved," Ray said, equally as grudging.

"I know you don't want to believe it about any of them," Arte said, looking to both Coley and Ray. "And maybe they're all truly innocent of any wrongdoing. But we just can't take that chance."

"I know we can't," Coley grunted. "That's why we're both willing to bend."

"Hopefully we'll find there's another explanation," said Jim.

Ray's cynical side wasn't sure there would be one. But he still wanted to believe, especially when the Stones had professed to believe in him. He did not want to betray them now, not unless there was indisputable proof that they were the spies and that they were using him and the golf club for their own means.

"Hopefully," he said at last.

xxxx

Lafe had the sense that something was wrong as soon as he entered the hotel room. A chill ran up his spine as he drew his gun. "Who's here?" he demanded.

The door slammed shut. Before he could so much as reach for the light switch, a stranger kicked him hard, sending his legs flying out from under him. He crashed to the floor with a yelp, his gun firing into the carpet.

"You thought you had a clean get-away, didn't you?" It was the same muffled voice from the park, the one that had ordered the death sentence on Coley. "You didn't know I saw you leave or that I traced you first to Oak Bridge and then here."

"No, I didn't know it," Lafe sputtered. "But if you're here to kill me, I don't know what good you think it'll do. I already told Coley everything I heard. He knows you're out to get him! You'll have a hard time catching him off his guard."

"I know _I_ will. But you won't." A foot came down, pressing unbearably on his back.

Lafe gasped, gripping the carpet between his fingers. "You're saying you want _me_ to do it?!"

"You've made this problem infinitely more difficult for me. I see fixing it as the only thing you _can_ do now. Otherwise . . ." The foot pressed harder. "I can snap your spine in two. If you don't die, you'll wish you could."

Fear and panic began to rise in Lafe's heart. But another emotion was coming to the surface as well—anger. He strained to pick up his gun from where it had fallen near him. Barely managing to get hold of it, he pointed it upward and pulled the trigger.

His assailant abruptly snarled in surprised pain and backed off of him. "I didn't expect that from you," the stranger admitted.

"Coley didn't even think about having anyone join up with him if they were weak," Lafe retorted furiously, not quite stopping to remember that this person likely did not know Coley's background.

"Then you're saying you plan to be loyal to him until the end?"

"That's what I promised, and I haven't broken it," Lafe declared. "I'm not going to." He gripped his gun, just barely able to see the other's outline in the dark. "Are you still going to try to break my back?"

Silence was his only reply at first—a silence that slipped through his fury and into his nervousness. What was this person up to?

"You're right that it won't do me any good to kill you," was the response at last. "Not unless, of course, I could then use your body to persuade your friend that he had best do as I say and not interfere."

"You'd just make him really mad," Lafe said, hoping his concerns weren't coming out in his voice. "He'd fight you all the harder."

"Perhaps . . . unless I made it clear that his other dear friend Ray Norman's body would be the next to fall at his doorstep."

Now Lafe paled and panicked. This person meant business.

"Well? You know I'm right, don't you? That would cause Mr. Rodman to agree to all of my terms without a fuss."

Lafe set his jaw. "How do you think I'm going to answer that?" he snapped. "I don't want to say anything that'll get me killed and Coley into a worse-off shape."

"Of course you wouldn't. And I suppose I _could_ leave you alive, as a hostage, but it would be so much more effective if I dropped your broken body at his feet." A gun clicked.

Lafe stiffened and fired at the dark shape. He had already shot the creep once, and not even twice seemed to stop him for long. As Lafe ran for the nearest exit—the balcony—he was dodging bullets himself.

And what kind of dead-end escape route was the balcony, anyway? The only way out was up and over, and that wasn't very desirable. But that person was still following him and shooting. What choice did he have?

Drawing a deep breath, Lafe gripped the railing as he hoisted himself over the side. If he could drop down to the balcony directly below him, he might have a chance. But he wasn't an acrobat like James West. What if he missed?

Footsteps on the balcony jerked him to action. He swung his legs under the balcony and jumped, barely making it onto a futon on the balcony below. To his relief, the doors for this suite were unlocked. He slipped inside.

The room was empty, but it might not be for long. Lafe was not about to take a chance on startling someone and getting the police called on him. He tore through and into the hall, making a beeline for the elevator. The doors were just opening and he scrambled in, his heart racing.

"First floor," he gasped to the person nearest to the buttons. She complied, and the elevator prepared to descend.

Just as the doors closed, he caught a glimpse of someone starting to open the stairwell door. He pressed himself against the side of the elevator, hoping desperately not to be seen.

"What's wrong with you?" the girl frowned in concern. "I mean, you'd think someone was trying to kill you or something."

"That's exactly what's happening!" Lafe declared. "Somebody broke into this hotel and into my room and shot at me."

"Oh, that's . . ." But the girl trailed off, staring at his right sleeve. "Hey, you really are bleeding!" she exclaimed.

Stunned, Lafe followed her gaze. He hadn't even noticed; a bullet must have just grazed him as it had flown past. But those graze wounds were known to bleed pretty badly, and this one was not an exception.

"Well, there's proof!" he said, holding his arm out and trying to ignore the pain of doing so.

"Something definitely happened to you," she frowned. "If someone's really chasing you, we'd better get the police."

Lafe swallowed hard, not really keen on that idea. But then again, he realized, why shouldn't he be? The police weren't after him in this time and place. They'd be on _his_ side.

That was a strange thought.

"Yeah," he said. "I guess so. But I have to talk to a friend of mine first. The only reason someone's out to get me is because they're trying to hurt him. I have to warn him!"

The elevator stopped on the ground floor and the doors opened. There was no sign of the assassin in the lobby. In fact, the lobby was entirely deserted, almost eerily so.

"Do you know his number?" the girl asked. "I'll let you use my phone." She started to dig in her purse.

"His number?" Lafe said vaguely. "Your . . ." He trailed off. He had certainly seen people walking around talking into weird boxes. And he had gathered that they were talking to other people through them, somehow. It was like a wireless telegraph service, only much more advanced. He had meant to ask Coley about them, but then so much had happened and he had forgotten.

Sure enough, she pulled out one of those boxes and held it out to him. He took it slowly, wondering exactly what to do with it. "I . . . I don't know his . . . number," he stammered. "But he's staying at the Oak Bridge Golf Club, if that helps any."

"Sure it does," the girl smiled. "We'll just look it up in the phone book and you can call there and ask for him." She led him across the room to the front counter. Without the desk clerk there, she simply went around to the other side and drew up a heavy yellow book that had been on the desk.

He opened it and started to flip through the pages. He was lucky he could read, he thought to himself. Coley had always been well-educated, but some of the old gang members hadn't learned for years, if at all. As far as he knew, Pete still couldn't.

He blinked back a strange dizziness. He had never known a fading rush of energy to leave him like this, but he had been feeling so sluggish ever since they had got off the elevator. He struggled to focus, desperately looking through the topics in the phone book to find the right one.

"There's a section where you can look things up by name instead of type," the girl said. "Right here—this white part." She turned to that. "Hey, are you okay? You look like you're going to pass out or something."

"I . . ." Lafe held a hand to his forehead. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

As the girl tried to look up Oak Bridge for him, he stared, blankly. What kind of sick nut was after him? Could the bullets have all been dipped in poison or something? It was alarming to think about. But he really wasn't feeling well, and it was only getting worse as the moments went on.

"Here's the number," the girl announced now. "I think I'd better dial it for you. And then I'd better call 911."

Lafe had no idea what that was and didn't think he should ask, since she apparently thought he would know. He just nodded in agreement and watched as she pressed the buttons.

"It's ringing," she said after another moment. "Do you think you can take . . . oh, hello?" Lafe could faintly hear another voice on the other end. "I've got a man here who's worried about a friend of his who's there." She looked to him. "What's your name and his?" she asked.

"I'm Lafe," he mumbled. "My friend is the security chief out there, Coley Rodman."

She nodded, relaying the information. "It's a security guard on the phone," she told him. "He's going to find your friend."

He gripped the counter. It seemed like an eternity that they were just standing there, waiting. And he was almost sure he could hear someone on the stairs. But every time he looked, no one was at the door. He shuddered. Maybe he was hearing things now.

"Hello?! Lafe?"

Coley's concerned voice drew Lafe somewhat back to the present. "That's him," he said, holding out his hand for the phone. The girl gave it to him and he held it the way she had done. "Coley?"

"Lafe, what's wrong?!"

"Coley, they know," Lafe rasped. "They know I heard them talking and they know I told you. They're trying to kill me now, as some kind of example to you! . . . Hey!"

He stared in shocked horror as the person with the scarf emerged from the shadows, grabbing the girl from behind. She cried out in alarm and fright.

"Are they there right now?" Coley exclaimed.

"Yeah!" Lafe said. "He or she or whoever has this girl who's been helping me!"

"Lafe, I'm coming out there right now," Coley declared. "And I'm calling the police. Which hotel are you at?"

Lafe shouted the name even as he set the phone on the counter and struggled forward. "Let her go," he ordered. "She's not mixed up in this!"

"You made her a part of this," was the too-calm reply.

The girl was stiff, her eyes wide in terror. Lafe fumbled, trying to get his gun out again.

"You might shoot her by mistake. You won't try anything so stupid."

"What'll it take to make you let her go?" Lafe demanded in worried frustration.

"You, dead." The other's own gun was drawn and the trigger pulled. The girl screamed.

Lafe only barely managed to dive out of the way in time. The bullet glanced off a piece of furniture.

"You'll have to pay for that," Lafe said. "I'm not going to. And the girl knows too much. You can't really think I'm so dumb that I'd believe you'd let her go if you killed me!"

"I guess not."

With her captor's attention divided, the girl wrenched away. Not stopping to think that perhaps it wasn't just her good luck to get free, she turned to stare in horror as the mysterious person lunged at Lafe.

Even as Lafe fired at point-blank range, the stranger only jerked for the briefest moment before striking him on the head with the gun. Lafe fell back, collapsing to the floor.

"You're quite good, to have lasted this long," the person mused. "Most people would have succumbed long before this." The gun clicked as it was pointed at Lafe's limp form.

"Don't hurt him anymore!" the girl yelled, suddenly grabbing the shooting arm from behind. She jerked it to the side, the next bullet burying itself at the bottom of the marble counter.

Lafe fought in vain for the last threads of consciousness. They were fighting some kind of superhuman. No matter how many times Lafe shot him, it didn't faze him. And now he was grappling with the girl again.

Angry with his helplessness, Lafe's thoughts ran wild. Where _was_ everybody?! Why didn't anyone hear all this racket? Why was this place so deserted down here?

Still holding his gun, he tried to steady his hand enough to fire one more time. But the combination of the blow to his head and whatever was in his system was too overpowering. He slumped to the floor.

The last thing he heard was the girl screaming in panic. And the last thing he felt was the stranger clubbing him again.

_This guy really hates me,_ was all he could think. _I wonder if I'll still be alive when Coley comes._

It was certainly not the way he had thought he would die.

Not that anything of late was as he had thought it would be.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes: The thing about who started THRUSH is apparently a backstory that's used in the novels for **_**The Man From U.N.C.L.E. **_**Very interesting indeed!**

**Chapter Nine**

Coley called the police, his fingers trembling as he dialed. Lafe had not hung up the phone and Coley had heard all the commotion that had gone on next, including the random girl's alarmed cries. What upset him the most was what she had screamed just as Coley was taking out the personal cellphone Ray had helped him select, which he was using to call the police so as to keep Lafe connected on the landline.

"_You're killing him! Stop it, for the love of Heaven, you're __**killing**__ him!"_

And then, a scream and dead silence.

"Hello?!" Coley demanded as someone answered the phone at the precinct. "My friend's being attacked at the Royal Hotel. Some girl's with him and she might be getting hurt too!"

He was promised that a squad car and a paramedic team would be sent immediately, and that he should just stay there and wait. But that was something he absolutely could not do.

"Ray!" he called, as he hung up the phone and made sure his gun was properly loaded, "I have to go."

Ray, who had been coming up the hall in concern upon realizing Coley was still on the phone, hurried over the rest of the way. "What's wrong?" he exclaimed.

"Lafe's in trouble," Coley barked. He swore helplessly. "I shouldn't have let him go. He would've been safer here."

Ray chased after him as he headed for the door. "Coley, what do you mean?" he demanded.

Coley looked to him, the anger and fear obvious in his eyes. "They know he heard about them plotting to kill me in the park," he said. "And they know he told me. Now they want him dead as a warning to me not to talk." He hauled open the door. "Right now, I don't even know if they might've succeeded." His voice broke slightly and Ray was chilled.

"Coley, I'm coming with you," he said. "They might still be there and you'll need help."

"If they want to kill Lafe as a warning, they'd probably be willing to do the same thing to you," Coley retorted.

Ray paused. He knew that was true. Of course, he was not worried for himself, but he did not want to go if it would just make it worse for Coley and give him someone else to worry about. "What do you want me to do?" he asked.

Coley hesitated now. "Come with me," he said at last. "They could break in while I'm gone, just to get at you. I trust my guards, but . . . I'd feel better knowing where you are. Especially when I just let Lafe go and that's why he's possibly _dead_ now!" He drew a shaking breath. "And I need a driver, to get there fast," he mumbled.

Ray laid a hand on Coley's shoulder. "We'll take the car," he said. "Should we tell Mr. West and Mr. Gordon?"

"I'll call them from the road," Coley said. "Every minute we're not there could mean a bigger chance for Lafe to be dead."

Ray nodded, recognizing that was all too horribly true.

They headed out of the building, a loud silence between them. When Ray tried to break it, it almost felt foreign and wrong.

"Coley," he said slowly, quietly, clearly worried. "If . . . if Lafe is dead, what will you do?"

Coley's eyes darkened. "I'll get his murderer," he vowed. "Same as I would if it was you they killed."

And Ray found he could not blame Coley or proclaim it wrong.

He could only pray that there would be no need for it.

And that if there were, Coley would not lose himself.

xxxx

There were finally other people in the lobby of the Royal Hotel when they arrived. Bewildered and befuddled and overwhelmed, they mindlessly prattled about the room like a pack of lemmings. Or at least, that was how Coley saw them.

He pushed past them, heading towards where he could hear a girl's quavering voice.

"Please wake up," she begged. "I'm so sorry I couldn't do anything for you in time! Please don't be dead. Please . . ."

Coley broke through the crowd and stopped short, staring at the sight of an unknown girl kneeling beside Lafe's lifeless body. She was holding a cloth to the left side of Lafe's forehead. It was already red with his blood.

Suddenly sensing someone there, she looked up and jumped. "Oh!" Her eyes widened. "Are you Coley?"

"Yeah." He dropped down in sickened disbelief and took Lafe's wrist, feeling for a pulse. It was there. His tense shoulders relaxed—slightly. "What happened here?!" he demanded.

"That nutcase just kept hitting him and hitting him!" the girl cried. "He did it three times before I could stop him! I found the alarm and rang it and finally people started coming in. And when they did, that rotten guy just up and managed to get past them without anyone seeing him!"

Coley frowned. "That doesn't make sense."

"Neither does the fact that Lafe shot him several times and it didn't even faze him!" the girl wailed.

"What?!" Coley stared in shock.

"I don't understand," the girl said, shaking her head. "We couldn't even get a good look at him! But he was invincible or something."

Coley looked down at Lafe, so motionless and silent. "Lafe," he whispered. "It should've been you who was invincible."

The girl bit her lip. "He must be a really good friend of yours," she said. "I heard that creep saying that Lafe had chosen this, the hard way out, instead of agreeing to kill you. A lot of people wouldn't care that much."

Coley stiffened. "What?!" He looked up at the girl with a jerk. "That crumb wanted Lafe to . . ."

It made an awful, sick sense. The guy must have been furious that Lafe had heard their plans. And since he seemed to be an extremely devious and cruel sort, why wouldn't he think that the perfect solution would be to have Lafe deliver the fatal blow himself?

Coley slammed his fist into the floor, swearing in horrified anger and outrage.

Ray managed to get through the crowd now as well. His eyes widened in alarm at the scene. "Coley," he gasped. "Is he . . ."

"He's still alive," Coley grunted. "Somehow."

Relief glimmered in Ray's eyes. "I met the paramedics outside," he said. "They're right behind me." He indicated the young paramedic team, who came out from behind him and quickly knelt down by Coley and Lafe.

Coley and the girl moved to give them room. "What do you think?" Coley demanded. "Do you think he's going to make it?"

The dark-haired one took Lafe's wrist and began counting his pulse rate. The sandy-haired one examined the wound.

"With head injuries, it's always hard to say," he said. "Do you know what happened?"

"Yes!" the girl cried. "This awful creep hit him three times!"

"His pulse is kind of sluggish," the brunet paramedic frowned. "Hey . . ." He looked up at Coley. "Weren't you the guy with that lady yesterday?"

"Huh? No." Coley looked exasperated as realization dawned. "You must be the guys who helped Pinto's girlfriend."

"Pinto? . . . Well, nevermind."

"Has he woke up or moved at all?" the sandy-haired paramedic asked.

"No, he hasn't," the girl said, shaking her head.

"What happened here?" The dark-haired one was examining Lafe's right arm.

Coley blinked. He hadn't even noticed that before. "I don't know," he admitted.

"He said that guy was shooting at him when we first met," the girl spoke up.

"It looks strange for a bullet wound. There's some kind of white powder around and in it." The brunet paramedic showed them.

Coley went stiff. "Poison?" he breathed in horror.

"Maybe," the sandy-haired paramedic frowned. "But his pulse would usually be a lot faster with poison."

Coley swore under his breath anyway. He felt so helpless. And partially responsible.

Ray laid a hand on his shoulder. "Coley . . . it's not your fault," he said softly, feeling helpless himself.

"I should've thought there was a chance Lafe was seen," Coley said angrily as the paramedics continued to work. "I should've thought maybe he'd be safer staying with us."

"You did what you thought was best." Ray swallowed hard. "That's all any of us can do."

"And sometimes that's not good enough," Coley countered. "What do we do then?"

Ray had no answers.

Coley moved back to allow the paramedics more space. ". . . I wasn't even sure if I was glad to see Lafe, when he first showed up," he confessed. "I mean . . . I was glad to see he was okay, but . . . I had a new life without him. I wasn't sure I liked something from my old life popping up again. And I guess I . . . I wasn't even sure I trusted him that much anymore, since we were on different roads." He looked at the floor, guiltily. "I didn't have enough faith in his loyalty."

Ray slowly drew his arm around Coley's shoulders. "Coley . . . your feelings are completely human," he said. "I don't know that I'd want someone from my old life turning up again, if he was still a criminal. I don't know that I'd trust him, either."

"Yeah, but from what you've told me, you wouldn't have any reason to trust any of them," Coley said. "I never had a reason to doubt Lafe." He blankly watched as the paramedics loaded the limp body onto a gurney. "Look at him. He's like this because he outright refused to do anything to hurt me, even at the threat of dying. I couldn't ask for more loyalty than that."

Ray helped him to his feet. "I had some misgivings about him too," he said. "I hoped he would be this strong, but I wasn't sure."

"I guess the thing was, I figured he just respected me when I led the gang," Coley said. "And I figured I had to be rough and harsh to lead it proper. And then when Lafe met me again now, I wasn't interested in going back to leading the gang."

"You were still rough and harsh, though," Ray said, "since you wouldn't let anyone take the jewels, even Lafe."

"Yeah, but being on the opposite side of the law from Lafe, I'd be a threat being that way," Coley answered.

"Maybe Frank liked the rough harshness, at least until you didn't let him do what he wanted," Ray suggested. "But I think Lafe, and maybe the others, respected you for everything you were—not just rough and harsh, but fair and not unkind. Someone who played cards with them instead of distancing yourself when you weren't out on jobs. Someone who enjoyed having fun but knew how and when to be serious. Someone who wouldn't accept mindless cruelty as appropriate behavior."

Coley grunted noncommittally. ". . . Ray . . . if Lafe makes it, I want to try again," he said. "I mean, to see if he won't at least try going straight. I want to invite him to come stay with us while he gets better. And I . . . I want to offer him a job, as one of my guards."

Ray smiled wanly. "If he makes it, I'd like to see you do that," he said. "Any true friend of yours is someone I'm willing to extend a chance to."

xxxx

Jim and Arte had been stunned by what Coley had told them when he had called from the road. And when Ray called to let them know the details of what had happened and that they were going to the hospital, they were not only further stunned but deeply worried.

"An invincible man, Jim!" Arte exclaimed. "Lafe shot him three times and it didn't even faze him, let alone floor him! Something is terribly wrong there."

Jim nodded, frowning. "It's almost like those people in New Orleans that were under the influence of that drug," he mused.

"The supposed zombies?" Arte supplied.

"That's right." Jim headed for the phone. "There might be some even more powerful drugs these days. We need to find out."

Arte sighed. "I never thought I'd say this, but I wish Lucius had given us a way to contact him," he bemoaned.

"So do I, Arte, but we _can_ contact his boss." Jim picked up the receiver and dialed. "Maybe he'll even have an idea of who this person might be."

As it turned out, Mr. Waverly did not have an idea of who the man might be in specific, but he did have a definite worry.

"I wouldn't be surprised if he's an agent of THRUSH," he declared after Jim relayed the tale to him.

"I'm not familiar with that organization, Sir," Jim answered. "They must have been formed after my time."

"Oh, you would have still been alive then, but . . . yes, it was after the point in time when you and your partner came here," Waverly said, suddenly sounding chagrined, as though realizing he was revealing a bit of Jim's future to him.

"Who are they?" Jim asked. "If we have to tangle with them here, I'd rather be as familiar with them first as I possibly can."

"Well, I'm assuming you've dealt with quite a few evil organizations in your time, Mr. West," Waverly said. "THRUSH is another one, founded in the 1890s by a very devious man named Sebastian Moran."

"I see," Jim frowned. "And by this point I imagine they're highly technologically advanced."

"Highly indeed," Waverly sighed. "I daresay they come out with new inventions every week. Of course, U.N.C.L.E. tries our best to keep up."

"Of course." Jim frowned, digesting this information. "You'll contact Mr. Bowen and let him know about this, won't you, Sir?"

"Yes. He already knows that the spies he's after are THRUSH agents, but he should be prepared if one of them is so strongly guarded against bullets."

"Perhaps you should also send an agent to Rampart Hospital, to watch over Lafe and the others," Jim suggested.

"I suppose I should," Waverly mused. "Although I'd be more inclined to believe that they will leave those poor people alone now, maybe believing that the man Lafe has a very slim chance of survival."

"That wouldn't surprise me," Jim agreed. "But they might at least send an agent to try to overhear whether Lafe is going to die."

"An excellent point, Mr. West," Waverly said. "I'll put an agent on that right away."

"I believe that's the best idea, Sir," Jim said, relaxing slightly.

"And you and Mr. Gordon be careful there," Waverly continued. "We know that most of the spies are already somewhere on the Oak Bridge property."

"We'll stay alert for them," Jim promised.

Arte looked out the window in concern. That might be a tall order. But it was surely not any worse than other calamities he and Jim had dealt with—save for the probability of vastly new technologies this time around. Still, they would manage, somehow.

At least, he certainly hoped they would. Sooner or later their luck might run out. It almost had several times on this case.

And maybe for Lafe, it already had.

_The poor fool,_ he thought sadly to himself. _He had no idea what he was getting into when he stepped through that portal._

Arte was certainly going to have to do something about that. There had to be way to close it off so that only those deliberately searching for it would find it. There had been so much going on that he had not even had a chance to start figuring out how he might be able to do it.

He sighed, leaning against the side of the wall by the window. If Lafe had not wandered into their time, Coley very likely would not even know that someone was plotting against him. By alerting Coley to that knowledge, Lafe might have saved both his life and Ray's.

But it still didn't seem right to Arte, if Lafe would have to pay for that information with his life.

"Arte?"

He started and turned. Jim had hung up the phone and was looking to him. "What's wrong?"

"Oh . . . I was just thinking about Coley's friend and former partner in crime," Arte admitted. "Poor old Lafe. I never thought I'd have reason to worry about him, or that I'd ever run into him again at all, but now . . ." He shrugged helplessly and shook his head. "We're really running into some unusual heroes and allies on this case."

"That's an understatement," Jim intoned.

"Even Miss Posey and her crew agreed to ally with us for a while," Arte said. "Although they broke off that alliance just as quickly once they realized we were still going to insist on carting them off to jail through the portal."

"I would've been surprised if they'd calmly agreed to that," Jim remarked.

"So would I," Arte said. "But if Lafe pulls through, I wonder what he'll end up doing."

"I'd say it depends on if he thinks he can go straight, or if he even wants to try," said Jim. "But I doubt Coley has to worry about him taking jewelry or anything else from here."

"I just wonder if _we'll_ have to worry about the people the jewelry belongs to," Arte said. "Maybe we should try to get close to them ourselves."

"I doubt they'd tell us any more than they told Lucius," Jim replied.

"Oh, but you know I have such a way with people," Arte said. "Meanwhile, you could be watching that scarf lady's room to see if she comes back."

"You'd willingly let me pursue the lovely young lady?" Jim observed.

"Well . . ." Arte shrugged. "I just think I'd have a better chance with the Stones than you."

"And maybe you don't find the lady so appealing when you know what she's been ordered to do," said Jim.

"Maybe," Arte said slowly. "Although I do imagine she's very beautiful."

Jim gave him a mischievous look. "Then I'd better get down to her room before you change your mind," he said.

"Oh, woe," Arte sighed. "I hope I won't regret this."

xxxx

Coley leaned forward in the waiting room chair, running his hands over his face. "What's taking so long?!" he muttered in worried frustration.

Ray sighed sadly. "They have to run a lot of different tests," he said. He didn't want to voice the rest—that maybe they had already found something drastically wrong and they were taking steps to try to fix it.

"His skull might be bashed in or he might be bleeding inside or any number of other things might be wrong," Coley berated. "And then there's that weird powder that might be poison. . . ."

Any of it _was_ possible, Ray knew. He laid a hand on Coley's shoulder, wishing he could do more. He could not offer hope that Lafe would be alright when it might not happen. But at least he could say a bit of something.

"It's also possible that maybe none of those things are wrong," he said. "The powder might be a sedative. Maybe they'll just have to stop the bleeding and give him a few stitches."

"And wait for him to wake up," Coley mumbled. "And he might not do that even if the powder is a sedative and wears off."

Ray looked down. "One thing I know is, people as stubborn and brave as Lafe is, who hang on as long as he has, sometimes pull through where lesser people might not. You're a prime example of that."

Coley leaned back. "If I am, then you are too," he said.

Ray blinked in surprise. "I should have seen that reply coming," he remarked then.

Coley smirked a bit but sobered. "Not everyone gets through two years of torture."

"Excuse me?"

They both looked up with a start at the new voice. Coley, expecting a doctor, frowned in confusion at the man in a suit who had approached them. "Who are you?" he wondered.

But Ray was not confused, at least not over the man's identity. "Mr. Burger," he greeted, getting up to shake the other's hand. "I wasn't expecting to see you."

"I wasn't expecting to see you, either, Mr. Norman," Mr. Burger said in amazement. He shook Ray's hand, while Coley stared on in befuddlement.

"Oh." Ray looked to him. "Coley, this is Hamilton Burger, the district attorney. He's a friend. When I was . . . going to be tried for blackmail, Mr. Burger agreed with Mr. Mason that there were extenuating circumstances because of what Portman did to me. He was instrumental in talking to the judge about clemency."

"That's good to know," Coley grunted.

Ray continued, "Mr. Burger, this is Coley Rodman, my head of security and my closest friend."

Hamilton shook Coley's hand now. "It's your friend who was hurt, Mr. Rodman?" he queried.

"Yeah," Coley answered. "Are you here about that?"

"Yes," Hamilton nodded. "Yes, I am."

"Why?" Coley wondered. "I thought the police had to build their case before bringing you in on it."

"Normally that's true," Hamilton acknowledged, "but in this case there may already be a connection with something my office has been working on. The seemingly invincible man whom your friend could not seem to shoot. Someone like that has turned up in the police reports of two other crimes in the past month."

Coley stiffened. "They tried to shoot him too?"

"One of the officers absolutely knows the bullet hit him," Hamilton said. "They saw the hole in his clothes and blood beginning to stain them. But he just kept running as though nothing had happened."

Coley sank into the chair. "That's just not possible," he said, overwhelmed.

"That's what they thought too." Hamilton looked tired. "They all had to go through a psychiatric evaluation after what they reported. Every one of them was found to be of perfectly sound mind."

"So what do you want from me?" Coley frowned. "I wasn't even there when Lafe ran into this creep. The girl would be of more help than me."

Hamilton sighed. "Unfortunately, the girl has disappeared."

"What?!" Coley stiffened. "She was there when Lafe was taken in the ambulance. She was going to go with the police right then and make a statement."

"I know. The police officers are missing too."

Ray stared, sickened. "I guess there's no hope that there hasn't been foul play," he said at last.

Hamilton shook his head. "No chance. The police can't raise them on the radio. I suppose it's possible that they had an accident, but if they did it was most likely provoked by the invincible man or someone following his orders."

Coley stood, angry now. "Lafe probably would be dead right now if that girl hadn't been there," he said. "I don't even know her name."

"That's what I was afraid of," Hamilton said. "But I came hoping that maybe she might have told you. Without her name, we can't even begin to find her home or contact her family. It's possible that she escaped her fate and went in a panic to someone she knows."

"Can't you give a description to the hotel clerk?" Ray asked. "He must have seen her."

"He doesn't remember anyone like that registering there," Hamilton said. "She might have just been visiting someone. The police are questioning every person in the building."

"Hey, that reminds me." Coley narrowed his eyes. "When we first showed up, everybody was wandering around like they didn't know up from down. Are they all really that stupid or was something else wrong with them?"

"Something else was wrong," Hamilton said. "We're still trying to figure out exactly what, but so far everyone we've talked to there said the same thing—they remembered a bell chiming and then suddenly everything was a blank until they heard the alarm. They followed the sound and congregated in the lobby, still dazed."

"Oh, that's just bizarre," Ray objected. "It's like they were all hypnotized!"

Hamilton nodded. "People have reported cases of group hypnosis," he said. "I don't know whether I believe in it or not, but in the last year and a half I've had to learn to believe in a lot of things I never did before." He looked even wearier as he said this.

Coley crossed his arms. "And supposing it's real and that's what happened. Lafe and the girl weren't caught up in it too because they weren't there at the time everybody was getting put under?"

"And probably, at least in Lafe's case, because his enemy didn't want him to be 'caught up in it'," Hamilton said. "I heard that he originally wanted Lafe to kill you, since you wouldn't be expecting it from him."

"That's right," Coley said. "But he wouldn't do it."

Hamilton nodded. ". . . There is one other thing I wanted to ask of you, Mr. Rodman," he confessed. "If your friend . . . well, if you speak with your friend, will you please ask him about the invincible man? And whether he knows the girl's name?"

"Yeah," Coley said. "If he's well enough to talk about those things."

"Of course." Hamilton stepped back. "Thank you both for your time."

"It's good to see you again, Mr. Burger," Ray said. "I just wish it wasn't like this."

"Yes, so do I." Hamilton looked to Coley. "If you're able to learn anything, please call my office," he requested. "If I'm not there, one of my assistants, Mr. Sampson, likely will be."

"Yeah, sure," Coley grunted.

He and Ray both watched after Hamilton as he departed. "Well," Coley said then, "what do you get out of that?"

Ray shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "It sounds so incredible, especially the large-scale hypnosis. But I think what worries me most is . . . if it could happen to all of those people without their knowledge . . . could it also happen at the golf club?"

Coley stiffened. "That's a good question, alright," he muttered.

"And there's the question of _why_ it happened. Did he just want everyone out of the way to go after Lafe?" Ray shook his head. "That doesn't make sense, either. He very likely thought that Lafe would give in and agree to do away with you."

"Yeah." Coley frowned. "He didn't know Lafe would have more backbone than that and go running off to the lobby. And he sure didn't know the girl would meet up with him."

"It doesn't seem like anything was stolen, either," Ray mused.

"And that makes me think of just one other thing," Coley said. "When Kirby got done with a new germ, he always wanted to test it out on bigger and bigger things before deciding it was perfect. The one that froze people in place only got tried on people for the first time when we used it for a test run in a town." His eyes narrowed. "Kirby didn't tell us the thing hadn't been tested on people until after we'd used it. If something had gone wrong and everybody had died . . ." He trailed off. "Well, anyway."

"You think maybe whoever did this to the people in the hotel was making a test run of something," Ray said in concern.

"It's possible, anyway," Coley said. "And if this was the rehearsal, where is he going to have the real show?"

Ray swallowed hard. "And when?" he said weakly.

"It's something to think about," Coley said. "And we'd better find out the answers before it happens to us."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Coley had doubted that he would be able to go to sleep, with so much to think about and worry about. But somehow he found himself rousing up with Ray gently gripping his upper arm.

"Coley? Coley, the doctor finally came."

That snapped him wide-awake. "What?!" He sat up straight in the chair he had started to slouch in. "What'd he say?"

"He thinks Lafe will be alright." Ray smiled, but hesitated.

"He said something else, too, didn't he?" Coley deduced.

Ray sighed now. "Yes." He studied his hands, debating the best way to say it. "He . . . he wasn't sure if the trauma would result in partial or total memory loss."

Coley just stared at him. "Lafe . . . might not even remember anything? Including me?"

"Or he might," Ray was quick to add. "If he forgets anything, it might just be how he was hurt. But he could remember everything. We won't know until he wakes up."

"And when did the doc think that would be?"

Ray looked regretful again. "He doesn't know. The white powder was some kind of sleeping pill, ground up, but it's pretty much worn off by now."

"So it's being hit over the head that's keeping him out."

"Yes," Ray nodded.

Coley blew out his breath in frustration and discouragement. "Once he knocked me out by accident. Long story. When I woke up and realized what'd happened, I was real mad. But I calmed down. I knew it was an accident and he wouldn't hurt me on purpose.

"I was in pretty bad pain for a while, and he only hit me once. I can't imagine what it would be like to get hit three times, and by someone just trying to be brutal."

Ray winced. ". . . The doctor said you could go in with him," he said. "Maybe your being there would help bring him around."

"Maybe," Coley grunted. "But I can't see me being the kind of person who'd go in and talk him awake."

"I think the doctor figured that just you being there would help, whether you said anything or not," Ray replied.

"I don't know how it would," Coley said. "But yeah, I want to see him." He started to get up.

Ray did as well. "Do you want to go alone? Or should I come with you?"

Coley looked over. ". . . I've seen modern hospital rooms on the television, but I'm guessing it's nothing compared to the real thing, especially if someone you know is in the bed." He sighed. "Yeah, I think I'd like the company."

Ray nodded, soberly. "The doctor told me where the room is," he said. "We'll go there now."

Coley walked with him, tensely eyeing the unfamiliar, modern halls and looking towards the ceiling every time the PA system went off. When Ray stopped in front of a door without warning, Coley nearly stumbled into him. Ray gave him an apologetic look as he opened the door.

Coley peered into the room before slowly entering, not sure what to make of it. The machines were beeping, annoying him and making him nervous. Lafe was lying motionless on the bed, appearing asleep even though he wasn't. The white bandage wrapped around his forehead was red at the spot where he had been wounded.

Coley approached cautiously, uncertain, staring down at Lafe for a long moment. Then he spun with a whirl, his eyes flashing, and headed back to the door.

"I don't like it," he proclaimed. "I can't stay in here, looking at him wired to those things like some experiment!" He looked like he wanted to punch the wall, but he restrained himself.

Ray swallowed hard. "It's not like it would have been with Dr. Kirby," he said. "These machines are monitoring his heartbeat and other things to try to help preserve his life."

"Even if I know that in my head, it doesn't make it any easier to see it," Coley growled. "The only thing I think of when I see stuff like that is Kirby's lab."

"I understand," Ray said quietly. "If I'd been tortured by machines with Portman, I don't think I could stand them myself.

"The doctor really did hope you might be able to help Lafe by being here with him, though. So . . . while you might not like the machines, maybe you would want to try to deal with them for a little while, just to see if you could help?"

Coley froze but then sighed in defeat, his shoulders slumping. "Yeah," he said. "I guess I would."

He turned, walking back to the bed. "Hey, Lafe." He gently rested his hand on Lafe's shoulder. "I'm going to sit with you a while, see if you wake up." He sighed, sinking into the nearest chair.

Ray lingered in the room. It had been a long night. So far it looked like it was bound to be a long morning, too.

"Maybe I should call the club and find out how things are," he said at last. "I suppose nothing too bad happened or someone would have tried to call me." _Unless it was so bad they couldn't call,_ he added silently, not wanting to voice that idea.

Coley nodded. "Yeah, you do that," he said. "If nothing else, Jane must've been disappointed we never got back last night."

Ray half-smiled. "I wonder if Mr. West and Mr. Gordon had to try taking her back to Mrs. Featherstone."

Coley managed a smirk. "Even though she likes them, I'm not sure she'd let either of them pick her up."

"Maybe she walked alongside." Ray reached for the door. "I'll just step out here to call. I'll be right back."

"Yeah, sure."

Coley grew weary again as Ray left. It was much easier to feel at least somewhat better when Ray was around. Otherwise, Coley was left alone with his other friend's unconscious body, those aggravating machines, and his depressing thoughts.

He sighed, rubbing his eyes. "I'm still here," he mumbled. "I wish you'd wake up soon, if you're going to. I don't see any reason to drag it out if you're not. That'll just make it harder to deal with, if you go."

But he leaned against the railing on one elbow. "Lafe . . . don't do that to me. Or to yourself. I know you want to live. Anyway, if you don't, you'll just be giving your killer what he wants. Part of it, at least. I won't roll over and do what he wants. I'll get him out of the way so he can't hurt you or Ray or anyone else. And he'll be sorry he ever did this to you."

If Lafe heard, he did not give any indication of it.

Coley had not expected much else.

xxxx

Arte was unable to hold back an insistent yawn at the breakfast table.

It had been a long night, with him unable to speak with the apparently slumbering Stones and Jim not having any luck encountering the mysterious woman with the scarf. Not to mention that they had needed to take Jane back to Mrs. Featherstone and Jane had wanted to stay and wait in Ray's office until her owner's card game was over, hoping that Ray and Coley would return. And, unable to get the cat to allow them to lift her, they had been forced to leave her there and hope that Mrs. Featherstone would get her after the game.

"I hope Jane didn't spend the entire night in the office," Arte mumbled through a second yawn.

"I don't think Mrs. Featherstone spent the entire night playing cards," Jim countered.

Arte sighed. "They're not back yet, are they?"

"Not as far as I know," Jim said. "We'd better call them after breakfast."

"Yes, we had," Arte agreed. "And I'll have to talk with the Stones at breakfast, if I can find them."

"Apparently there's some newcomers today," Jim mused. "I don't recognize that . . . heavyset man coming in behind Lucius."

Arte followed Jim's gaze. "I don't either," he realized. "I wonder if Lucius knows he's there?"

"He knows." Jim was certain. "Lucius is a professional, just as we are. And that man isn't trying to hide his presence or be secretive in any way."

"He'd have a difficult time trying to hide, I'm afraid," Arte mused. "Maybe I'll just go on over and say Hello, since we're supposed to be scouting for spies while Mr. Norman and Coley aren't here."

Jim nodded. "I'll watch for the Stones to come in."

Arte got up and weaved around the tables. "Hello," he greeted Lucius as he approached. "You really have arrived early, I see.

"And I haven't seen you around here before," he added to the man behind the agent.

"This is my first time in quite a while," was the friendly reply. "And the other time was all business. This time, it's purely for pleasure."

"Well, wonderful," Arte smiled. "You certainly picked a busy time to drop in."

Lucius, who had lingered to watch the exchange, now placed his hands in his jacket pockets. Keeping silent, he studied the dining room until at last spotting Jim. He stealthily slipped away from the scene, making his way towards the other Secret Service man.

Jim looked up when he saw Lucius coming. "Arte seems to be hitting it off quite well with that man," he noted. "Do you know him?"

"I know he's a local P.I.," Lucius said as he sat down at the table. "Frank Cannon. I had to learn about him if I was going to learn about Ray Norman."

The name had immediately registered with Jim. His eyes glittered. "Frank Cannon," he mused. "The man who was investigating the blackmail case when Mr. Norman was killed."

"That's right. They wanted him to testify at the hearing when Mr. Norman was found alive in Dr. Portman's laboratory, but I don't think he and Mr. Norman met at that time." Lucius leaned back, crunching on an apple he had just pulled out of his pocket. "Mr. Norman had a private meeting with the judge in chambers."

"That would be more humane, considering his situation," Jim agreed. "But do you have any idea why this private investigator would be here now?"

"He says it's just for pleasure," Lucius shrugged. "And I know he does like golf. Probably the food here, too. He likes fancy kind of stuff."

"A gourmet?" Jim looked thoughtful. "He and Arte should find a lot to talk about." Coming back to the current situation he asked, "Do you believe he's here just for pleasure?"

"He could be," Lucius answered. "But it does seem a strange coincidence, for him to turn up right now amid all of these other things." He looked to where he had last seen Frank and Arte.

"Say," Frank was saying, "do you happen to know Mr. Norman?"

"Why, yes," Arte replied. "I'm afraid he's not here right now."

"Oh, that is a pity," Frank mused. "I was hoping I'd get a chance to talk with him."

"Do you know Mr. Norman, then?" Arte asked. "Or would this be a first visit?"

"Oh, no," Frank hurried to say. "No, I've met Mr. Norman before. That was before his . . . death. You could have knocked me over with a feather when I heard the news that he was found alive in that mad scientist's lab."

"That must have been quite a surprise, alright," Arte agreed. "I didn't meet Mr. Norman until after all that. He's changed a great deal from what you must have known him as being."

"I gathered that," Frank nodded. "I was glad to hear that he's managed to turn his life around."

"So are you here now just to pay a social visit?" Arte wondered. "See how he's been doing in his new life?"

"Something like that," Frank said. "I heard things have been a lot better for him since he found a new head of security."

"Oh yes, I would say so," Arte agreed. "Yes, the day Mr. Norman met Coley Rodman was the day things really started to change for him for the better."

"I'm glad to hear that," Frank smiled sincerely. "Do you know if he'll be back any time soon?"

"I don't, actually," Arte admitted. "One of Coley's old friends was hurt and he and Mr. Norman have been at the hospital."

"I see." Frank looked grim now. "I heard about a bizarre series of events at the Royal Hotel last night. . . ."

"Yes, that was it," Arte nodded. "And oh dear, I seem to have been holding up your breakfast. Would you care to dine at my table?" He gestured in the general direction.

"Why, thank you," Frank said. "Yes, I'd like that very much."

"We can continue our conversation over the day's menu," Arte smiled. "I know my friend won't mind. He'll be interested too." He started to lead Frank towards the table.

When Frank realized which table Arte was going towards, he commented, "It looks like your friend has already brought a guest."

Arte glanced at Lucius. "Oh. Well, he'll also be interested," he said.

"You know, call me crazy, but I'm getting the feeling that all of you know more about something than you're letting on," Frank mused.

"What kind of something?" Arte returned.

"That's what I'm still trying to figure out," said Frank.

Arte just chuckled. "You must be quite the doggedly determined fellow."

"I've been called that, and sometimes much worse," Frank smiled. "But I suppose I might be just a little paranoid. I'm a private detective, and I guess after a while I start seeing new mysteries everywhere."

Arte nodded thoughtfully, not that surprised. He had started to suspect that his new acquaintance might be something like that.

"A private detective," he said. "Has business been good?"

"Oh yes, quite," Frank replied.

"Glad to hear it," Arte chirped. "And you know, I don't believe we've even introduced ourselves yet. Artemus Gordon." He held out a hand.

"Frank Cannon." They shook on it just before they reached the table.

Arte looked to Jim. "James, I hope you don't mind that I brought a guest to the table. This is Frank Cannon. Mr. Cannon, meet James West, my dearest friend and associate."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Cannon," said Jim, shaking his hand. "And this is Lucius Bowen."

Lucius gave a silent nod. Frank regarded him in thoughtfulness. "Lucius Bowen," he mused. "Now where have I heard that name before?"

Lucius shrugged. "I can't imagine."

"What do you do for a living, Mr. Bowen?" Frank asked as he sat down.

"This and that," Lucius answered.

Jim and Arte exchanged a look. This was an unexpected twist. And perhaps not a positive one, particularly if Frank were to recollect where he had heard of Lucius in the past.

And where would that have been, anyway?

xxxx

Florence was not happy as she walked down the corridor towards the office of the three mysterious leaders of F.O.W.L. They had called her in for a conference today and she could imagine their displeasure with her.

She hated being subservient to them. One day she would defeat them all and rule F.O.W.L. all by herself. With her in charge, there would be no stopping the organization. It would manage to rule the world before long.

"Florence."

She heard the voice as soon as she stepped into the room and saw the three silhouettes behind the glass and the curtain. Even as high in rank as she was, that was all she saw of the leaders—those silhouettes. She had very little idea of what they really looked like. Naturally that was to protect themselves against any agents who might have an uprising in mind, but it was aggravating for said agents. Still, it did not deter her, as they likely hoped it would.

"Yes?" she asked, cool, chipped, and without volunteering any statements on what she thought was happening.

"We received a communication from Mr. Blackburn," said the one in the middle. "He's not sure what to think of what you did."

"Mr. Blackburn is playing the field, working for two rival criminal empires," Florence said haughtily. "Does it matter what he thinks?"

"For as long as we want to keep him thinking that we are unaware of his ties to THRUSH," was the answer. "And for as long as we want him to believe that he is a valued agent of F.O.W.L."

Florence said, "He told me his whole purpose in wanting me to go after Posey and her man was to try to draw out a renegade assassin named Pinto who would be angry at the assault. Apparently this Pinto knows something of Blackburn's operations and Blackburn wants to liquidate the liquidator."

"Pinto knows of his operations with THRUSH," the silhouette on the right corrected. "Pinto knows nothing of his work with us. Pinto might be more useful alive. He could . . . tell us things."

"You're above Mr. Blackburn in rank, Florence," said the silhouette on the left. "We can't help wondering if you agreed to help him because you wanted to have your revenge on Lucrece Posey and her gang for double-crossing you."

"You know that would be more my sister's speed, Sir," Florence said. "I saw only an opportunity to eliminate some people who could be enemies to F.O.W.L. I had no idea you wanted this assassin alive."

"Make no further attempts on Lucrece Posey's life, or the lives of her men," the one in the middle ordered. "And if Mr. Blackburn's assassin does come out, protect him and bring him back to us."

Florence gave a curt nod. "I will do as you have commanded," she said. "As I always have."

"We hope so, Florence. We would hate to have to liquidate _you._"

The lights dimmed, signaling the end of the conference. Florence turned, walking stiffly out of the room.

Of course, she had not told them the whole truth. When Blackburn had approached her about taking part in this scheme, he had told her that they would collaborate on an attempt to take over F.O.W.L. She would help him find and kill this other man named Pinto, and he would help her kill the three leaders of F.O.W.L. Then there would only be two leaders from then on—him and her.

Naturally, she planned to eliminate him once all was said and done. But until that time came, it didn't hurt to have him onboard.

She would do as her superiors had ordered. At the same time, if she brought the assassin Pinto to their headquarters, she would find a way to get word to Blackburn about it. And in the end, she would have everything she wanted, while all those who stood in her way would be . . . well, dead.

She smirked to herself as she walked.

xxxx

The incessant beeping was both annoying and kind of frightening. Lafe stirred, raising a weak hand to his throbbing head. He blinked in a bit of surprise to find the bandage there.

"What's . . . what's happened?" he mumbled. "Where is this?"

Apparently someone had been around and had given him medical aid of some kind. But was he alone now? Was there anyone to even answer him?

He kind of had the sense that someone was there. He looked to the left and his eyes widened at the sight of Coley slumped dozing in a chair, his elbow resting on the metal bed railing and propping him up.

Lafe was not sure what to make of this. He was hurt and Coley had stayed with him for who knew how long.

He reached over shakily, touching Coley's arm. "Coley?"

Coley's reflexes were sharp. He snapped to almost immediately, his arm dropping, his eyes flying open. But when he saw it was Lafe who had touched him, he perked up immensely. "Lafe! How are you feeling?" Then he paused, a bit of worry flashing in his eyes. "Do you . . . do you know me?"

Stunned, Lafe replied, "Coley, of course I know you! How could I forget?"

Coley sighed in relief, pushing back his hat. "I thought maybe you'd been hit so hard that you . . ." He trailed off. "What about how you got hurt? Do you remember that?"

Lafe frowned, trying to think. "Somebody was hitting me," he said slowly. "I don't know the name."

"But you do remember." Coley continued to look hopeful. "What about the girl?"

"Girl? . . . What about her?"

"Do you remember her being there? Do you know her name?"

"I remember her," Lafe mumbled. "And there was a name on that funny box she had to talk to you. Carol something. I'll have to think about that a while."

"Don't strain yourself," Coley said. "The most important thing is for you to rest."

"How long have I been out?" Lafe wondered.

"A long time," Coley said. "It's . . ." He glanced at a clock. "Almost afternoon now."

"Huh?!" Lafe followed Coley's gaze. "How did I sleep that long?"

"It wasn't a natural sleep, you know," Coley grunted. "And you were hit so hard that we . . . we didn't know if you'd wake up at all."

"Oh." Lafe looked down, a bit uncomfortable by that revelation. Then he looked up again. "Wait a minute. 'We'?"

"Ray and me," Coley said. "He's here too. I think he went to get something to eat. He was going to bring me back something."

"He just stayed here this whole time with you?" Lafe was in disbelief. "He doesn't know me."

"No, but he knows _me,_" Coley said. "He wanted to stay until we knew you'd be okay. Actually . . ." He glanced at the door. "I'm probably supposed to tell the doc you're awake now."

"The doc?" Lafe looked uneasy. "I'd rather just talk with you about what's going on, Coley."

"He's a real doc, not a mad scientist," Coley tried to assure him. "He'll need to look you over, see how you're doing. But I'll be right here and we can talk after that."

Lafe sighed. "Well . . . okay, if that's what you think is the best thing. But what is this place then? Some new kind of hospital?"

"Yeah, it's what they all look like now," Coley said.

"And this thing _has_ to keep beeping?"

Coley gave a wry smirk. "It tells that your heart's beating, so it'd better keep at it. I wish it would do it quieter, though." He stood and went to the door. "I'll just be a minute."

Lafe watched him, still not sure what to think or make of any of what was happening. The only thing he _was_ sure of, which made him both humbled and amazed, was that Coley really cared about him, even with their currently different lifestyles.

Actually, he mused, he wondered if Coley cared more now than he had before.

Or maybe it was just that Coley was more comfortable showing it now. He had shown worry and caring for Lafe in the past, but he had been more gruff about it then. Now he seemed more relaxed.

Lafe smiled a bit. That was one thing he might be able to get used to, anyway.

xxxx

It was some time later when Lafe had been examined and left alone by the doctor again. And Coley hadn't come back. Lafe frowned, absently clutching at the blanket as he gazed out the window to his right.

What a strange world this was. There was so much that didn't make sense, as well as so much that was fascinating and interesting. Coley was certainly happy here, but Lafe had the feeling that the technology had very little to do with it.

Maybe it was because he was a free man in this time period. No one could cart him off to jail now, as long as he stayed on the straight and narrow. And he was serious about doing that.

Maybe it was that he had an honest job and was making a lot of money with it. He sure seemed to like that, too.

Lafe scowled. It was probably really that guy Ray who made Coley happy.

But then he sighed in resignation. Maybe it was all of the above. And anyway, Lafe really had no claim to jealousy, he supposed. Not when Coley had spent hours here, just watching over him and hoping and praying he would wake up.

The door opened and he looked up. Coley was coming back, finally.

"Hey, Coley," Lafe greeted. "Did you go eat something?" He remembered Coley mentioning that Ray was getting food for them.

"Yeah," Coley answered. He sat down next to the bed. "And I talked to the doc, too."

Lafe turned to face him more. "He told me I was doing pretty good, considering what happened to me," he said.

"I know. You were just lucky your skull wasn't bashed in." Coley leaned back, seeming to be debating with himself over something he wanted to say.

Lafe watched him, curious. "What is it, Coley?"

Coley glanced over. Appearing to make a decision, he rested his hands on his knees and leaned forward. "I asked the doc if you could get out of here, if you just rested. He said he'd like to watch you a few more hours, but then you could go."

Lafe blinked. "Back to the hotel?" He cringed. "I don't know, Coley. Maybe I'd rather stay here."

"No, not there," Coley said quickly. "Come back with me and Ray." He gripped the railing. "This wouldn't have happened to you if you'd stayed with us last night in the first place."

Lafe stared at him in amazement. "But you said . . ."

"The rooms are booked up, I know. But the employees rooms are open." Coley looked at him pleadingly. "Come with us, Lafe. I'll set a couple of guards around your room and I'll keep checking in personally. And when you're better . . . I'll offer you a job as one of the guards."

"Me? Do honest work?" Lafe was stunned. "Coley, I . . . you'd trust me like that?"

"I know it's out of your line," Coley grunted. "It has been for years. And maybe it wouldn't work out. Maybe you wouldn't be able to adjust like I have. But you're my friend, Lafe. I wanted to give you the chance."

Lafe leaned back into the pillows, turning Coley's offer over and over in his mind along with all of the pros and cons he could think of.

It was hard to even imagine an honest living. Lafe had fully planned to get back to stealing, now that he was where he no longer had to run. But he had also planned that Coley would be there with him. Now Coley didn't want to go. And Lafe wasn't sure _he_ wanted to go and leave him. At least, not without trying this new lifestyle first. Didn't he owe Coley that much?

"I'll come with you, Coley," he said at last. "I will. And maybe I'll even try this guard thing."

Coley perked up, looking like another weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "Of course, you know you still wouldn't be allowed to take those jewels," he said, clearly not knowing what to say in his relief and joy.

"Aww, Coley," Lafe sighed. He smiled. "Of course I know it."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes: Coley Rodman has always been the main character of these stories. Even though I was better at disguising it before, that has been my intention ever since **_**The Night of the Lazarus.**_** Jim and Arte are not the only "cast members" who have had reduced roles in this story, and I imagine the readers who are interested in the entire story and not just Jim and Arte have probably noticed that. (And contrary to what my complainer seems to think, I do have readers who are interested in the whole story and cast! Thank you so much, readers!) But since I do want the entire cast to have important roles, I have been trying to work towards getting Jim and Arte more involved. I find it rather ironically amusing that the complaint I knew would eventually come has come from someone refusing to identify herself or himself, and that they chose to complain right when I was doing something to give Jim and Arte larger roles. That was my intention when I brought in Frank Cannon to say Hello, since he and Arte both love gourmet food.**

**Chapter Eleven**

Lunchtime finally brought with it the Stones. Arte immediately jumped up, hurrying to grab them before they could disappear.

"Why, Mr. and Mrs. Stone!" he exclaimed. "Where on Earth have you been? We couldn't catch you at all last night or even this morning. And we had been looking so forward to dining with you."

"Really?" Mrs. Stone said easily. "We were around. I can't imagine why you couldn't locate us."

"We must have just kept missing each other," Arte said. "Well, nevermind! Come and have lunch with us now. If you don't have other plans, of course."

The Stones exchanged a look. "No, we don't," Mr. Stone said finally. "Thank you, Mr. Gordon. We accept your invitation."

They walked with Arte back to his table, where Jim was waiting. Lucius had long ago gone out to the golf course to talk to other guests there. And Arte had spent the morning playing golf with Frank Cannon. Frank had come in for lunch, but at the moment Arte couldn't see where Lucius had gone.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Stone," Jim greeted. "Mr. Stone. I hope you've had a good morning."

"Very good," Mr. Stone nodded. "We spent most of it on the golf course."

"You must have had a very early start," Arte commented. "Did you even stop for breakfast?"

"Oh yes," Mrs. Stone smiled. "As you said, we must have just missed each other."

"We must have," Jim agreed.

"I don't suppose you ever learned the meaning of that strange note," said Arte once they had placed their orders.

"Strange n- . . . oh! That Pinto thing?" Mrs. Stone remembered.

"That's the one," Arte confirmed.

"No, we still don't have the vaguest idea what it means." She peered at him. "Do you, Mr. Gordon?"

"Well . . ." Arte toyed with a napkin. "We have some ideas."

Jim nodded. "Obviously the note was meant to warn someone against someone named Pinto. We believe that person may be an enemy spy."

He watched the Stones carefully for their reaction. While Mrs. Stone continued to stare blankly, Mr. Stone paled slightly.

"An enemy spy?" he scoffed. "Good heavens, you two read too many suspense novels."

"Perhaps," Arte said easily.

"But since the note was given to me, are you calling _me_ an enemy spy?" Mrs. Stone exclaimed.

"Not at all," said Arte.

"The note could have been passed to you by accident," said Jim. "Maybe they meant to give it to someone else."

"So next you'll be saying _I'm_ the spy, since I was right by my wife," Mr. Stone frowned.

"That's possible," Jim agreed. "Or it could have been someone who brushed past you on the walkway, the airplane, or a number of other locations."

"Then we might have become innocently mixed up in some spy plot, if that's what it is at all," Mrs. Stone frowned and shuddered.

"It could just be a colossal joke," Mr. Stone proclaimed.

"Yes, it could," Arte nodded. "But when we're aware of someone named Pinto, who doesn't really have any involvement with jokes, it seems highly unlikely."

Mr. Stone shot him a Look. "And just who is this Pinto?"

"Someone you don't want to mess with," Jim intoned. He couldn't tell whether Mr. Stone had forgotten that they had previously mentioned knowing a criminal named Pinto, so he deliberately avoided saying so. If Mr. Stone _was_ the enemy spy and knew about the other Pinto, Jim wanted to see what would happen if Mr. Stone believed that was whom Jim meant instead.

Mr. Stone looked uncomfortable, but said nothing. Instead, he and Mrs. Stone exchanged another unintelligible look.

The food arrived at that point, which was a welcome distraction for all concerned.

". . . Oh, by the way," Arte spoke up, deciding to change the subject, "Mr. Norman has spoken very highly about both of you. He said that you're among the only people who have stayed loyal to him and interested in the club since his . . . er, return from the dead."

The Stones snapped to, looking relieved by the subject change. "That's right," Mr. Stone said.

"It's really a shame so many people have turned against him," Mrs. Stone frowned. "Especially when he's trying to do the right thing now. And the club is just as wonderful as ever. Better, perhaps." She leaned forward, crossing her arms on the table. "Do you know that even his own parents have been making themselves scarce? It's disgraceful!"

Arte frowned too. "That's definitely a shame," he agreed. "You'd think they'd focus more on what he is than what he was."

"How do you know about his parents?" Jim asked. "Did he tell you?"

Mrs. Stone flushed. "Oh no, not at all. We just sort of . . . heard about it."

Mr. Stone nodded. "There's been news stories on both coasts," he said. "His parents have been highly sought-after by reporters in the last year."

"Yes, I can imagine," Arte mused. "But did they tell these things?"

"No, but the reporters gathered proof that they've been avoiding their son," Mrs. Stone replied. "Their methods are disgraceful too, of course, but they do seem to be conclusive. And Mr. Norman himself seems to back them up. He's been overheard trying to talk with his parents on the telephone and acting awkward and being brushed off."

"Still, it's all gossip," Arte pointed out. "If Mr. Norman hasn't actually told you anything, then you have no way of knowing how much is just sensationalism."

"Well . . . we don't like to bring it up," Mrs. Stone said. "That wouldn't be tactful."

Arte had to admit, he couldn't argue with that.

"We're just saying that you shouldn't spread around what you've only heard through second and third-hand sources," Jim said. "That isn't tactful, either."

Another uncomfortable silence ensued. Feeling awkward himself, Arte tried to change the subject.

"Anyway," he hurried to say, "it's wonderful that you're still friendly with Mr. Norman. The club gets a lot of business, but a man can never have too many customers. Or more importantly, too many friends."

"And Mr. Norman doesn't have nearly enough friends," Mrs. Stone declared. "I'm glad the two of you have come along."

"What about that Coley Rodman, the security chief?" Mr. Stone suddenly asked.

Jim and Arte both came to complete attention. If they were the spies, and were involved with trying to murder Coley, this query was definitely setting off alarm bells.

"What about him?" Jim returned.

"He's a good man," Arte put in. "And fully loyal to Mr. Norman."

"Mr. Norman would be devastated if anything happened to him," Jim added cleverly. "No true friend of Mr. Norman's would want to cause that."

"Well, no, of course not," Mrs. Stone said slowly, sounding confused.

"It just seems strange that a man like that would be in a place like this," Mr. Stone said.

"He cares about Mr. Norman enough that he puts up with the surroundings," Arte said, resisting the urge to add, _and some of the people._

"That's good, then," Mrs. Stone said.

"There's that Southerner, too," Mr. Stone mused after a moment.

Arte raised an eyebrow. "Southerner?" he repeated.

"Yes, he talks as though he's from the old South," Mrs. Stone said.

Jim was just as interested and confused as Arte. "And this . . . Southerner said he was a friend of Mr. Norman's too?" he asked.

Mrs. Stone paused. "Well . . ." She gazed into the distance. "I suppose he didn't say it, actually. We just happened to run into him a few blocks away when we were first coming here and we mentioned we were coming here. And he said he knew about it and that he'd met Mr. Norman."

"We asked him what his impression of Mr. Norman was," Mr. Stone added, "and he said he didn't know him that well."

"He seemed very nervous," Mrs. Stone said. "He was like a cornered deer."

"Did he happen to give his name?" Arte wondered.

"No, but I could never forget him," Mr. Stone said, shaking his head. "He had bandages around his forehead and around the backs of his hands and up his wrists. Most of all, he had the most alarming, atrocious scar running down the left side of his face."

Jim and Arte exchanged a look. _Snakes._ He was alive. But what on Earth was he doing loitering near the golf club?!

"Do you know him, by any chance?" Mrs. Stone inquired, curiously.

"We've met," Arte said, keeping his tone guarded.

"Is he always so excitable?" Mrs. Stone persisted.

"I don't think we know him well enough to say," Arte said. "We've only seen him when distressing things are happening in his life."

"Many of which he's brought about himself," Jim added.

Mrs. Stone blinked. "Oh, I see."

"I would definitely advise that you steer as far away from him as possible, Mrs. Stone," Arte told her. "And of course, you too, Mr. Stone."

"Of course." Mr. Stone frowned. "Is he a criminal then?"

"Something like that," Arte agreed. "He's not particularly bright, but he's dangerous."

"And that can be a deadly combination," said Jim.

"I see," Mr. Stone mused. "I suppose that makes sense."

"Trust us, Mrs. Stone, it makes a lot of sense," said Arte. "Where exactly did you see him?"

"A few blocks away, as I said," she replied. "He was just standing by the edge of the road where you start going up the hill to get here."

"And he didn't give any explanation for what he was doing?" Arte said in concern.

"None," frowned Mr. Stone. "He seemed to just be loitering. We wouldn't have even stopped to talk to him, except that the blasted final stoplight wasn't working right and we were stranded with it for much too long."

"Who initiated the conversation?" Arte queried. "You or him?"

"He did," Mrs. Stone admitted. "He said the light just wasn't working and we'd have to drive on through it."

Arte leaned on the table with an elbow, stroking his chin and looking to Jim. "Now why would that character be hanging around close by the golf club?" he mused.

"I don't know, Arte, but maybe one of us should go find out," Jim frowned.

"You really are worried about him being around," Mrs. Stone blinked in surprise.

"Well, as we said, he's dangerous," said Arte.

Jim nodded and started to get up, pushing aside his now-empty plate. "I'll see if I can find him."

"Good luck!" Mrs. Stone waved. "And stay safe."

Arte nodded too. "Indeed, James," he said. "Do."

xxxx

Snakes was no longer loitering in the same spot as he had been before, but he was in the area. He sat under an umbrella at the table of an outside café, keeping his hat pulled low as he sipped his drink.

He was frustrated and angry with himself. He had fought for the South in the Civil War and really thought he had been fairly brave. And after the war, when he had slipped back into the illegal activities for which he had never been caught, he had been a force to be reckoned with. Now, Posey and her gang had him reduced to a sniveling, shaking coward.

Well, maybe not that bad, but he had become bent and determined to get rid of them before they could kill him again. And he had almost succeeded in getting himself killed without any help from them. If he had just run after his first encounter in this time with Pinto and Cyril, maybe none of it would have happened and he wouldn't be sitting here, banged up and bandaged and trying to decide what to do with himself.

What he really wondered was what was going on at that golf club. Today he had seen that other character who called himself Pinto going over there. He knew the place was packed with guests for the last weekend before Christmas, but somehow he didn't think Pinto #2 was going there just to golf.

He had thought it even less after having spotted the Stones conversing with the people in a second car before they all went out to the club. He had managed to catch a few snippets of their conversation and had started to glean that there was some sort of underhanded plot going on that Ray Norman and Coley Rodman were probably going to become the victims of.

Of course, what happened to them was of little consequence to him. He looked out for himself above all else. But if he contacted either them or Jim and Arte and offered to sell them the information in exchange for protection from Posey's gang, maybe he would have something there.

Then again, since he had led Jim and Arte into a trap on the mountain, how likely was it that they would even believe him? He hadn't intended on killing them as much as he had Posey and her gang, but it certainly wouldn't have been consequential to him if they had died too.

Since they were law enforcement officers, however, they would have to at least consider that he might be telling the truth this time. And since they were not easy to fool for long, they were probably already aware of strange things happening at the golf club.

What he had heard might be useless and old news to them. But there was the chance that it might mean everything instead.

He looked up with a start as a car passed near the curb. Speak of the devils, it was Ray Norman's car. He was driving, with Coley Rodman and some other guy in the back.

It was Coley who locked eyes with him. The car swiftly pulled over and Coley leaped out. Snakes froze, not having anywhere to run and not knowing exactly what to do.

"Hey, Tolliver," Coley growled as he approached. "You almost killed me with your stupid stunt on that mountain."

Snakes shrugged, not wanting to appear nervous. He was sick of appearing nervous. But Coley's cold, dark voice and eyes to match were indeed making him nervous. He knew from Coley's reputation that he was not someone one wanted as an enemy.

"I wasn't after you, Pal," he said at last. "I just wanted Posey and her crew dead. You didn't have to show up."

"Maybe not, but I did, and even though we suspected a trap, we weren't too pleased when we were proven right." Coley stood over Snakes' table, his arms crossed over his chest. In the car, Ray was tensely watching and the man in the back looked more confused than anything else.

"What do you expect me to do about it?" Snakes retorted now. "You can see that I was a casualty of my own trap."

Coley took a step back, smirking. "Yeah, and it serves you right."

He paused. "You know, I could tell Posey that you're still alive. She'll be wanting revenge now that you tried to murder Little Pinto."

Snakes went stiff and pale. "She'd kill me!" he exclaimed.

"I don't usually agree with her, but in this case I'd say you'd only be getting more of what you deserve," Coley answered.

Snakes swallowed hard. "Rodman . . ." He started to get up. "How much would you pay for information about what's going on at the golf club?"

Now Coley froze. "Are you trying to tell me you actually have an idea of what's going on?" he demanded.

Feeling bolder, Snakes smirked. "How much?" he persisted.

"Your life," Coley retorted. "I wouldn't kill you and I wouldn't tell Posey about you. That's more than fair. Talk."

That was about the time Jim appeared on the scene. "What's going on here?" he frowned, looking from Coley to Snakes.

Snakes went limp with relief. "I was asking Rodman how much he'd pay for information about what's going on at the golf club," he said smugly. "What about you, West? How much would _you_ pay?"

Jim looked back. "To answer that, I'd first have to know exactly what you know." He started to reach for his gun.

"Neither of you are going to shoot me right here," Snakes declared. "You'd get arrested!"

"We could cart you off somewhere," Coley responded. "The car's right there."

"I'll yell you were going to kill me," Snakes countered. "People would come running."

"And I'd tell them that I'm a Secret Service agent and that you're my prisoner," Jim said. "Let's stop the games, Snakes."

Defeated, Snakes sighed, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets. "Okay."

Jim looked at him firmly. "Now. The Stones claim they saw you hanging around the last intersection before going up the hill to Oak Bridge. You told them the light was broken and they'd have to just go through. Did that happen?"

Coley glanced to Jim in surprise.

"That happened with a couple of people," Snakes said. "I didn't know their names. But then this morning I saw them again. They were pulled over at the curb talking to two other people."

"And you heard some of what they said," Jim deduced.

"That's right," Snakes nodded. "And it wasn't too favorable for you two. Or that Norman guy back there."

Ray was getting out of the car, wanting to hear the discussion better. But he stayed near the vehicle, apparently not wanting the other passenger to try getting out and wandering over.

Coley was losing patience. "What was it, Tolliver?" he snapped.

"The two people who met them were talking about killing you and blaming Norman if things got too hot," Snakes said. "But those people West calls the Stones said something like that had to be avoided at all costs. They didn't want Norman hurt."

"Well, of course they wouldn't," Ray said in disgust as he took a few more steps forward. "But are you saying they're part of this plot in some way?"

Snakes shrugged. "It sure seemed like it. They knew those other people and got right into talking about jewels and code words."

"Code words?" Jim narrowed his eyes farther. "What exactly did they say about that?"

"Nothing that important," Snakes argued. "Just that the code words had been changed and did they have the new ones. Oh, and Mrs. Stone said something about a guy named Pinto. I don't think it was Posey's Pinto."

"I don't think so, either," Jim said. "What did she say about him?"

"She was asking who'd left a message about him and said they were sloppy about it. But then one of those big noisy things rumbled by and I couldn't hear what anybody answered." Snakes shifted position. "It was after that when they got into talking about killing. The last thing anyone said was that if the Stones didn't . . . uh, play ball with them, there'd be a lot of trouble and maybe they'd end up dead, too."

Ray stiffened. "Then they're in danger," he exclaimed. "We have to get back and confront them with what we know. Maybe they'll tell us the rest."

"Maybe they will," Jim agreed. "But Arte's with them. Lucius too. They should be safe until we get back."

Coley looked back to Snakes. "Are you sure you're telling us _everything?_" he said darkly.

"That's everything, Rodman. I swear it!" Snakes took his hands out of his pockets. "So, do I get to go now?"

"Get out of here," Jim ordered.

"And you won't tell Posey?" Snakes looked from him to Coley to Ray.

"We won't tell her," Jim said. "That is, unless we have a reason to think you're going to go after her and the others again."

"I won't!" Snakes insisted. "I'm getting out of the country."

"Good," Jim said. "Then go."

Snakes nodded and turned, dropping a coin on the table to pay for his drink. "Oh . . . there was one other thing," he remembered, turning back. "Somebody mentioned something called THRUSH. Does that mean anything to any of you?"

"Maybe." Jim looked at him. "What did they say about THRUSH?"

"Just that THRUSH wouldn't be happy if the Stones didn't do what they were supposed to," Snakes said. "One of those people they were talking to must be staying at the club. She said she wanted them to help her find the best way to kill Rodman."

Ray looked stung. "Then the Stones are THRUSH agents?"

"Maybe not," said Jim. "Maybe they're being forced into this for some reason. We should get back and find out."

"You do that," Snakes said. "Me, I'm getting out of here."

"Go on," Coley grunted. "You've got your payment. Don't waste it. And don't come back here. I don't want to see you around Los Angeles again."

"I don't want to see me around here either," Snakes muttered. "I'm off." He pulled his hat down and hurried into the alley to the side of the café.

Coley watched him go, frowning, and looked to Ray. "Sorry, Ray," he said. "I know it couldn't have been easy to hear that."

Ray sighed. "Well, I'm not giving up on them," he vowed. "I believed in their loyalty and I'll keep believing in it. At least they didn't want to go in for killing, even if they are spies or enemy agents or what have you."

"Let's get back to the club," Jim advised. "I'll ride with you. And I see Lafe is coming with us."

"Yeah, the doc let him go, if he rests." Coley headed back to the car. "And I'll be seeing that he does."

Ray managed a smile. "I'm sure Coley will, too," he said to Jim.

Jim nodded. "I'm sure he will."

Lafe stared at Coley as he climbed back in the car. "What was all that about?" he said in bewilderment.

"It's a long story," Coley replied. "I'll tell you on the way."

Lafe nodded in agreement. "Coley . . ."

Coley glanced to him. "Yeah?"

"You weren't really going to kill that guy, were you?"

Coley grunted. "I can't say I wouldn't have liked to," he said. "But they don't have duels anymore and gunning him down in the street would've just made it bad for both me and Ray. So no. Unless he had drawn on me first, I wouldn't have shot him."

Lafe looked satisfied. "You wouldn't have in the past, either," he said. "Not unless he tried to fire on you, I mean."

"I'm glad you know me well enough to realize that," Coley remarked as Jim and Ray climbed into the car too. "I haven't changed that much."

xxxx

Jane was waiting in the lobby by the time they arrived. She hurried to meet them, meowing accusingly at both Ray and Coley. She then looked to Lafe, still not sure what to make of him.

"We're sorry, Jane," Ray said. "We wanted to get back last night, and we would have, only Coley's friend Lafe was hurt and we had to make sure he was going to be alright."

Lafe was suddenly uncomfortable and weirded out. "You think the cat can understand all that?"

"Sure," Coley said. "Or at least, the main point of it."

He bent down and petted Jane. "Lafe's a good guy," he told her. "He got hurt because he wouldn't do anything to hurt me. Now, you can appreciate that, right?"

Jane nuzzled his hand. Looking to Lafe again, she finally meowed and rubbed against his legs. He watched her, amazed and bewildered.

Coley straightened in triumph. "She likes you now," he said.

"Well, that's . . . nice," Lafe said slowly.

"She'll grow on you." Coley gestured to the left corridor. "We'll take you to the employees' wing and get you a room. Then I'll see to it that a couple of security guards are around to make sure no one busts in."

Lafe nodded. "Thanks, Coley."

Arte met them on the way to the corridor. "Boy, am I glad to see all of you," he declared.

Jim looked over in surprise. "What's going on, Arte?"

Arte shook his head. "After you left, the Stones abruptly cut out too. Lucius can't find them, and I can't find them, and I think I saw the lady with the scarf. At least, I saw _a _lady with a scarf."

Jim stiffened. "Where was she going?"

"Down this way, I think," Arte said, pointing to the employees' wing. "A couple of security guards hurried after her, since regular guests aren't supposed to be down there."

"And this just happened?" Coley exclaimed.

"Right," Arte nodded. "Only . . ." He frowned as they drew closer to the rooms. "I don't see any sign of her now."

"Well, that's just great." Coley pulled out his two-way radio to call the guard he had left in charge. "We'll get this cleared up," he promised Lafe.

Arte started to unlock the door of the room that he and Jim shared. "What about you, Jim?" he wondered. "Did you find Snakes?"

"We all found Snakes," Jim said. "And he said . . ."

He was interrupted by a sudden blast as Arte opened the door. With a shocked cry, Arte flew back against the opposite wall. Smoke filled the hallway.

Jim covered his nose and mouth. "Arte!" he yelled.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

Both Jim and Coley lunged forward long before the smoke ever began to clear, each worried about Arte.

For Jim, the irony of the situation was making his stomach turn. Now he had at least some semblance of understanding what Arte must have felt when he had stood by, watching as he had thought Jim was being killed by an explosion. And it was horrible.

Jim was already well aware of the horror of possibly losing his best friend in general. He had believed Arte dead in the past, and it had been the most unbearable, Hellish time for him. Even now, as he was dropping to his knees near where he thought Arte was, he was sending up a desperate, frantic prayer.

_Let him be alright. Whatever else, __**please . . .**__ let him be alright._

Coley coughed, waving away the smoke as he bent down. "Gordon?!" he demanded. The irony of the new explosion was not lost on him, but moreso than thinking of the past explosion, he was thinking of how he and Arte had started to work together because of it. They had become friends; he had even tried to protect both Arte and Jim. And now, suddenly being faced with one of those recent friends ending up badly hurt or dead, he felt sick.

Jane scurried through the smoke with an alarmed meow. Seeing Coley and Ray alright, she looked to Arte as well.

Ray and Lafe, standing in shock, snapped to. "I'll call an ambulance," Ray exclaimed. "And the fire department!"

But to everyone's collective relief, Arte groaned. "Ohh . . . don't bother, Mr. Norman," he mumbled, reaching a hand to the back of his head. "I'm alright. That explosion . . . it's more smoke and velocity than anything else."

Waving away more smoke, Jim turned to look at their open room. "A warning," he realized.

"Oh yeah." Arte tried to push himself away from the wall, but grimaced and slumped back. "Someone must have figured out we weren't just shooting the breeze when we were talking to all those guests."

"Or else one of those guests really is one of the spies," Jim frowned. "Arte, are you sure you're alright?"

Arte managed a weak nod. "Just give me a minute."

By now the guards who had been chasing the mysterious lady, as well as more guards and several guests, were congregating on the employees' wing. "What's going on?" one of the guards called.

"Something blew up!" a guest gasped.

"Is anyone hurt?!"

"Or dead?!"

Ray hurried to the front of the corridor, trying to keep the crowd from entering. "Everything's just fine, folks," he said to the guests, even as his stomach was dropping. He would have to be honest with them about what was going on; if something else like this happened, any of them could be caught up in it and be hurt. They needed to be warned. But not here, not now. It would be so overwhelming for Arte.

"What happened, Mr. Norman?!" one of the guests cried.

"It was just a minor malfunction," Ray said. "Everyone is alright."

After giving Arte another searching look, Coley stood, moving past Ray to the guests. "That's right," he said gruffly. "Come on; let's move out."

The other guards, following his lead, helped steer the guests around and away from the employees' wing. And, talking among themselves and still worrying, the guests shuffled out.

Jim, still in the hall with Arte, started to slide an arm around Arte's waist. "Can you get up?" he asked in concern. Jane moved out of the way, to give them room to stand.

"I think so," Arte mumbled. He did so, leaning heavily on Jim. "But I wonder if our room is going to be a pleasant place to stay for a while."

"It looks like the smoke is airing out," Jim mused. "But we'll have to call the police. The room might get sealed off as a crime scene."

"We'd better pick another room," Arte said.

"Exactly what I was thinking," Jim agreed.

xxxx

Lieutenant Drumm was not pleased at the sight of the blown-open door, the remaining wisps of smoke, and the remnants of the bomb. He scrawled away in his notepad as the Bomb Squad roamed the room, taking pictures and gathering evidence.

"You're right that this bomb was meant as just a warning," he said to Jim, who was standing near the doorway with Ray. "Otherwise, your friend would either be in the hospital or dead."

"But how did it get set up here?" Ray exclaimed in indignation. "That mysterious woman with the scarf wouldn't have had time to rig it; the security guards were right behind her!"

"There's always the chance that one of the security guards did it earlier," Lieutenant Drumm pointed out. "They could easily sneak in without it immediately looking suspicious. They could say they were looking for a suspicious character and they would most likely be believed."

"You're right," Ray frowned. "But we had a problem with a security guard not too long ago. All of them are upright now, as far as we know. Coley would most certainly vouch for them."

"No one is a perfect judge of character, Mr. Norman," Lieutenant Drumm replied. With a wistful sigh he added, "But it would be an amazing talent to have."

"Do you want to talk to Rodman?" Jim queried.

"Yes, I would," Lieutenant Drumm said, flipping the notepad closed. "Where is he?"

"I left him with Artemus while I came to see how the investigation was coming," Jim said. "They're in a room near the end of the hall."

"Good." Lieutenant Drumm followed Jim's gaze. "Take me there."

"I'll bring him to you, Lieutenant," Jim replied. "Mr. Gordon needs peace and rest to recover."

"Of course," Lieutenant Drumm nodded.

He watched as Jim started off down the corridor. "What about Mr. Gordon?" he asked of Ray. "Would he be able to tell me anything that Mr. West couldn't?"

"I don't think so, Lieutenant," Ray replied. "Except what it felt like to be blasted by that bomb." A tint of anger crept into his voice again. "Something like this can't happen another time. Mr. Gordon is my friend. And even if he wasn't, I'd never want him to be hurt!"

"We'll get to the bottom of it," Lieutenant Drumm vowed. "Meanwhile, what do your guests know about this?"

Ray sighed, turning away as he ran a hand into his hair. "By now, I honestly don't know," he admitted. "At least some of them saw your car drive up. And the bomb squad."

Lieutenant Drumm looked weary. "Then a whole lot of rumors are probably flying around by now," he said. "You'd better get them all together and I'll talk to them collectively."

Ray nodded. "I'll do that right now," he said, moving to hurry off.

xxxx

Arte groaned as he sank deep into the mattress and the pillows, a hand over his eyes. He was still dizzy and dazed from the blast. He really wanted to drift off to sleep, but somehow he doubted it was forthcoming. And he couldn't deny that part of his mind was more active now than before. He wanted to know who had done this. And he wanted to ensure that it would not happen again.

Coley, sitting in a chair near the door with his hands on his knees, looked over. "Are you okay?" he asked, uncomfortably.

Arte moved his hand just enough to see the concern flickering in Coley's eyes. "Yes," he mumbled. "Or at least, I could certainly be a lot worse. That's what I keep telling myself anyway." He paused, mulling over the scene in his mind. "This is quite a role-reversal, isn't it?"

"I guess you could call it that," Coley consented.

Arte managed a smile. "In the past, you were the one lying in bed, and after having saved my life, too."

"I remember." Coley got up, restless as he walked to the window and looked out. "And then I was also lying in bed after Pinto got through with me. And after Tolliver's bomb almost knocked me into the next life. I suppose it figures it would come around to you sooner or later."

Arte sighed. "I just hope I won't be in bed as long. I have to help Jim with the case." He rested for another moment and then said, "How's Lafe getting along?"

"He's had enough excitement to last him his whole life," Coley grunted. "I think he just wants peace and quiet now. He's probably wondering if he's any safer here than he was at the hotel." He pushed his hat back. "And I'm not sure what the answer is."

Arte winced. "I'm sorry if my injuries will factor into his feelings any," he said. "I can't imagine it helped, to see someone else get hurt practically the moment he walked in."

"I don't think so." Coley sighed, looking worn-out. "And it didn't do much for me, either. That makes two friends down in less than a day."

Arte blinked in surprise, taking his hand away once more to look to Coley. The former outlaw was still by the window, gripping his arms.

Feeling Arte's gaze on him, Coley turned to look, still uncomfortable. "Yeah," he said. "I think of you as a friend, Gordon, like you think of me."

Arte smiled a bit. "I'm glad. It's strange, but it's a nice strange."

"What's a nice strange?" Jim intoned as he arrived at the door.

Arte looked to him. "Oh . . . just realizing how far we've come, to be friends with a former criminal. Not to mention that the criminal _is_ a former criminal."

"Lieutenant Drumm wants to talk to the former criminal," Jim said, looking to Coley.

Coley frowned, crossing the room. "What for?"

"It's about your security guards," Jim replied. "He wonders if any of them could have done this."

Coley scowled. "They'd better not have." He headed past Jim and into the hall.

"That's going to be an interesting discussion," Arte remarked.

"It is," Jim agreed.

He looked Arte over. "Is there anything I can get you, Arte? Water? Painkillers? A doctor?"

"No, thank you," Arte said firmly. "I want my mind clear and I don't want to be poked and prodded. Although if I can't get to sleep, I wouldn't mind trying one of those modern painkillers."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Jim fell silent but lingered, something Arte noticed immediately. "What is it?" he asked at last.

". . . I was thinking about the irony of this happening to you," Jim admitted. "You thought I'd been killed in Cyril's explosion near Justice. And now it happened in reverse, with me watching you get blasted back."

"It seems that there's a lot of ironies in what happened to me," Arte mumbled.

Jim nodded. "Here's another one. You thought Rodman had set the bomb that supposedly killed me. Now I'm wondering . . . where has Lucius been all this time? We haven't seen him since we got back. And I'm sure he's heard about the explosion by now."

Arte gave a weak shrug. "Maybe he was on the golf course and had to keep up his cover."

"Probably," Jim agreed. "And his boss certainly seems to believe in him. But we've known a lot of good agents who went bad. And I can't stop thinking about the fact that Lucius was an experienced killer for hire long before he ended up in U.N.C.L.E."

"You think he should stay on our suspect list then," Arte mused. He sighed, sinking deeper into the pillow. "And I was so hoping we had a reliable ally."

"Hopefully we do," Jim said. "But wouldn't it be strange if everything is backwards? Maybe the Stones are undercover agents, working for the criminals to find out their plans, and Lucius knows they're double agents and has been hired by the criminals to kill them."

Arte frowned. "That would be awfully bizarre."

"I know. And that would make it right up our alley." Jim crossed to the window and studied the scene outside before turning and going back to the door. "You get some sleep. I'll leave a couple of guards here and look for Lucius."

"As if I'll _ever_ sleep now," Arte said dryly.

"You'd better." But Jim's aloof exterior melted, revealing his genuine concern for his friend. "You need to get well soon. It's more interesting when we're both working on a case."

"I most heartily agree," Arte rejoined.

Jim gave a genuine smile as he headed out the door, shutting it behind him.

xxxx

Lucius was indeed still on the golfing green. While talking with and simultaneously examining some of the other guests, he had stumbled across Frank Cannon at the 11th hole. They had decided to play the rest of the holes together, each curious and perhaps suspicious about the other.

"You know, I just can't think where it was that I heard your name before," Frank remarked.

Lucius shrugged. "In your line of work, you probably hear all kinds of names."

"Yes, but I have this nagging feeling that yours is especially important," Frank said.

"I don't know why," Lucius returned. "I'm no one in particular. Just an average man, trying to make his way in the world."

"Doing what, exactly? If you don't mind my asking."

Lucius lined up the club with the ball and teed off. He watched the ball sail across the green and land somewhere near the hole, but not in it. "This and that," he grunted.

"Well, one thing I know for certain is that you bear an interesting resemblance to someone I saw recently," Frank said, undaunted. His own golf ball rolled over the green and into the hole.

"Yeah? Who would that be?" Lucius kept his words guarded, as though not really curious.

"I can't quite think," Frank answered with a bit of a chuckle. "Unless . . ." He looked to Lucius with a start. "Why, yes, that must be it! You look like a man they showed briefly on television yesterday morning. It was only for a minute; I remember mainly because the story involved that criminal Flo at large again."

Lucius started. "I read something in the paper about her attacking some unnamed woman," he said. "What does that have to do with me?"

"I can't imagine," Frank said. "Probably nothing. But I do remember that man who resembled you. It must just be an odd coincidence."

Lucius was nothing if not fast on his feet and with his mind. "Wait a minute," he said. "What about the woman? Did they show her too?"

"No, just the man," Frank replied. "And I was certainly glad to hear that the woman is supposed to be alright. He looked absolutely devastated." He was sober now. "They must be very close."

"They must be," Lucius agreed, vague in his response.

The rest of the golf course stretched before them. Suddenly he frowned, turning back to the cart. "I've been here too long," he said. "I forgot about something I need to do. I'll send the cart back for you."

Frank blinked in surprise. "Alright, if it's that urgent. Maybe we'll meet again soon and we can finish our game."

"Maybe," Lucius returned as he climbed into the cart.

His thoughts whirled and he gripped the steering wheel, bouncing over the grass as swiftly as the little vehicle would go. When Jim appeared in his path without warning, he had to slam on the brakes.

"What's going on?" he demanded. "Mr. West, did Florence go after Lucrece Posey the other night?"

Jim paused, visibly taken aback. "Yes, she did," he said. He climbed into the golf cart. "Why?"

Lucius took off again, barely giving Jim time to get settled. "I hadn't heard about it until now," he said. "At least, I hadn't heard who she went after."

"She's going to be alright, from what I heard," Jim said, clutching the nearest available part of the cart in order to stay put.

"Where did you hear anything?" Lucius persisted.

"Before I say anything else, I think you should say why it matters," Jim countered.

Lucius's eyes narrowed. "I don't want her hurt," he said. "Or Pinto."

"You have a connection with them, but you never have told what it is." Jim looked to him. "You're related to them, aren't you?"

"You and your friend have asked before," Lucius said, keeping his eyes on the path in front of them. "What makes you think I'll tell you now?"

"I thought you might be so tired of being asked that you'd give up," Jim intoned.

"I don't know what difference it makes to you anyway."

Jim leaned back. "Alright. This is the difference it makes. If you're related to them, you come from a long line of criminals. I already know you're a hired gun. And I'm wondering if you're really as good of an U.N.C.L.E. agent as your boss feels you are."

Lucius sneered. "I do my job. I always have, whether it's for a gangster or a government agency."

Jim could relate to that feeling of efficiency, he had to admit. But he wasn't about to say that or give any indication of it.

"And your job wouldn't include being a double agent?" he pressed. "For the wrong side?"

"No," Lucius said flatly. "It doesn't. I work for U.N.C.L.E. and only U.N.C.L.E."

He parked by the main building. "Here's something I want to ask _you,_ Mr. West. Do you know where they're staying?" He did not have to say whom he meant.

Jim narrowed his eyes. "Yes, I know. Arte and I learned just the other evening."

"Give me the address," Lucius requested. "I just want to make sure they're okay."

"Don't you still have work to do here?" Jim returned.

"I've talked to all the guests I can find," Lucius said. "And I think my boss would like me to make sure I'm going to continue existing in the life I've chosen." He turned to Jim. "You're right, of course. I'm related to them. And while I don't believe that I wouldn't exist altogether if something happened to them, I obviously wouldn't be born into their family line. I'd have a whole different existence."

"You also said you didn't think the past could be changed," Jim said.

"I don't. But I don't see any reason to take chances. Anyway . . . they're family and I just don't want them hurt, regardless of what could happen to me." Lucius gave Jim a hard look. "Where are they?"

"I'll give you directions later, if you really want," Jim said. "Right now I want to know if you knew about the bomb someone planted in my and Arte's room."

Lucius stiffened. "No," he insisted. "Was anyone hurt?"

"Arte was, when he opened the door." Jim looked at him carefully. "But it could've been a lot worse. This bomb was just meant as a warning."

"I don't know anything about it," Lucius insisted.

"Or about where the Stones are?" Jim returned.

"I've been looking for them too," Lucius said. "No one seems to know where they are. And I can back up what I say, Mr. West. Everyone can attest to having seen me. And I've been on the golfing green with Frank Cannon for the last couple of hours."

"I'll talk to him and the other guests," Jim said.

"Go ahead," said Lucius. "He needs the cart back, anyway. You can see about that while I'm checking on my ancestors. Where are they?"

Jim finally obliged and gave him the address. "What if something happens while you're gone?" he frowned.

Lucius took out a small notepad and scrawled a number. "I have a cellphone. Call me on that." And with that he headed towards his car.

Jim looked after him, the paper in hand. Perhaps, he mused, he should follow Lucius and make sure he went where he said he was going, and for the reason he claimed.

On the other hand, it wouldn't take much to confirm Lucius's story. And Ray had taught Jim how to operate the golf cart.

He climbed in and turned the key. He would drive back to where Frank Cannon was and speak with him. After that, he could hail a cab to Lucrece's address and see if Lucius was there.

Provided something else didn't go wrong in the meantime. And the way things had been going, that was highly possible.

xxxx

Coley was restless. He had been impatient while talking with Lieutenant Drumm, and now that he was free to go, he wandered back and forth in the hall, lost in thought.

It was certainly possible, that one of his guards could be mixed up in this mess. But he hated to think that and didn't really believe it. He had told Lieutenant Drumm, but the police officer had wanted a full list of all of Coley's men anyway, and any notations about strange behavior any of them had exhibited of late. Coley had promised to get it to him right away. Now he was trying to think on whether there had actually been anything out of the ordinary to report.

"Coley?"

He looked up with a start at the voice. Lafe had wandered to the door of his room, peering into the corridor. The security guard near the door glanced to him but did not speak.

Coley came to meet Lafe at the doorway. "What are you doing up?" he grunted. "You should be resting."

"I wanted to know what was going on," Lafe answered, leaning on the doorframe.

Coley sighed, placing his hand on the wall. "Honestly, at this point I don't know," he said. "That Lieutenant thinks maybe one of the security guards is in on this mess. And maybe one of them is." He pushed away from the wall. "But they'd better not be."

The dark tone in his voice made Lafe shudder. Coley was right; in some ways he hadn't changed much.

The guard at the door looked over, uncomfortable. "I don't think any of the men are involved, Sir," he said. "And I'm not. I hope you believe that."

"I want to believe it, yeah," Coley returned. "But right now, that police officer is going to think of everyone as a suspect. I might have to as well."

He was speaking of this around the guard for a reason. If anything happened to Lafe, Coley would most likely look to this guard as the chief suspect. Coley wanted him to be aware that he would be watching. After what had happened to Arte, on top of what had already happened to Lafe, Coley was not in a good mood. And he was more than ready to take it out on the first person he discovered who was part of this affair.

The guard seemed to sense at least some of Coley's feelings. He shifted, still looking uncomfortable. "I had hoped we had your trust, Sir," he said.

"I had hoped you were all worthy of having it," Coley returned. "Maybe all of you are."

"Oh, Mr. Rodman, dear!"

Coley went a bit red at Mrs. Featherstone's chirping words. "Yeah? What is it?" he asked, turning to face her.

Lieutenant Drumm looked somewhat stymied as the woman hurried past and over to where Coly was standing. She paid no heed, instead grabbing Coley's arm.

"Mr. Rodman, I just heard about the horrible explosion!" she exclaimed. "Is Mr. Gordon seriously hurt?!"

"Nah, I don't think so," Coley replied honestly. "But he's trying to rest."

"Oh, of course." Mrs. Featherstone lowered her voice. "And you're alright?" she said urgently. "You weren't hurt in all the commotion?"

"The only one who got hurt in the blast was Gordon," Coley said.

Mrs. Featherstone chewed on her lip. "I wonder if I could have seen the man who did this," she fretted. "If I did, and I just dismissed it . . ." She shook her head. "Why, I never would have been able to forgive myself if something worse had happened!"

Coley stiffened. Casting a glance at the surprised security guard, he drew the elderly woman closer to Lafe's open door. "What makes you think you saw the guy who planted the bomb?" he wanted to know, praying that it wouldn't be dangerous for her to have made this admission out in the open.

Mrs. Featherstone nervously wrung her hands. "Well, maybe I didn't," she said. "I'd also hate to accuse someone who isn't even guilty."

"Just tell me what you saw, Mrs. Featherstone, and I'll figure it out," Coley said, trying to bite back his impatience. Lafe, standing to the side, was wide-eyed.

At last Mrs. Featherstone sighed and gave a consenting nod. "I can't say for sure, as I wasn't very close at the time, but right after breakfast I thought I saw that Mr. Bowen going towards this area," she said. "But it might not have been him. I saw another man outside right after that, and he could have done it, too. He was acting awfully suspicious."

"What about this second man?" Coley queried.

"He was very skittish," Mrs. Featherstone said. "Like he was afraid of being caught. I think he had a dreadful scar on his face. Not a small one, like that Mr. Bowen, but a very noticeable, ugly one."

Coley froze. "Snakes?" he said in disbelief.

Snakes was skilled with explosives. Had they let one of the culprits slip right out from under their noses?

xxxx

The abrupt ringing of the doorbell startled both Lucrece and Pinto. They looked up from where they had settled on the couch, eyeing the door with both suspicion and curiosity. Unless it was a random neighbor dropping by to see how they were doing, the caller must surely be someone they knew. Either that or someone who knew them.

"No one should be coming by now," Lucrece frowned, moving back from Pinto.

Pinto got off the couch, somewhat displeased that their time together had been interrupted. Lucrece had still been feeling a bit under the weather, so they were continuing to hold off on their plans for their wedding. They had hoped to resume the preparations in the morning, but who knew what this caller was bringing to their laps.

Reaching the door, Pinto peered through the peephole. He stiffened. "Well, I'll be darned," he proclaimed.

That was not the reaction Lucrece had expected. "What's going on?" she demanded, starting to get off the couch. "Who's there?"

"I'm not rightly sure," Pinto said as he unlocked the wooden door and hauled it open. "But he looks awfully familiar."

He left the storm door latched as he stood staring at their visitor. "Well," he mused, "whoever you are, I've gotta say you're a handsome devil." He smirked.

The other man smirked too, but it looked a bit forced. "You're Little Pinto?" he greeted.

Lucrece came over to stand next to Pinto, regarding their guest with increasing suspicion. "What makes you ask that?" she frowned. "The house is deeded to me—Lucille Rose. This is Peter Bowen."

"And I'm Lucius Bowen," Lucius cut in. "I know who you really are—Lucrece Posey."

Lucrece and Pinto stared in shock. "What?" Lucrece gasped.

"Bowen?" Pinto echoed.

Lucius swallowed hard, suddenly looking overwhelmed. "I . . . I've known about both of you for years. I was taught about you almost before anything else." He held up a photograph, pressing it against the glass. "My family has had this, but they could never figure it out."

Lucrece and Pinto both gazed at the wrinkled, dog-eared picture. "What in the . . . that looks like us in a church," Pinto said in disbelief.

"And I'm wearing a wedding gown," Lucrece noted. She looked to Lucius with flashing, bewildered eyes. "What kind of trick is this?!"

"It's not a trick," Lucius assured her. "This is your wedding. It hasn't happened yet, but it will in a few days. You wrote on the back of it here. See?" He turned it over.

Lucrece stared at the neat, faded handwriting in the corner. "'Pinto and I are married at last,'" she read. "'We were both starting to think this day would never come. But now it has. Christmas Eve 2012.'"

She rocked back. "That day isn't even here. And you're trying to tell us your family has kept this picture all these years?"

"It is your handwriting, isn't it?" Lucius prompted, undaunted.

Lucrece's frown deepened. "It looks like mine," she admitted. "And you _do_ resemble Pinto. If it isn't a trick, and your name truly is Bowen . . ."

Lucius nodded. "I'm your great-great-grandson." He gave a genuine smile. "My family—_our _family—couldn't figure out the date discrepancy. They thought it must mean something other than the day you two were married. And yet it always puzzled them why your wedding picture looked like a modern-day color snapshot."

"That would be enough to puzzle anyone," Lucrece remarked.

Pinto unlatched the door. "Well, come on in, Lucius," he said. "I'd say we've got a lot to talk about."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

Jim was coming back towards the main building after leaving the cart with Frank Cannon when he saw Coley storming outside and heading for the employees' wing. Interested and concerned, Jim changed direction and started to follow him.

"Rodman, what's going on?" he greeted.

Coley barely glanced at him. "Mrs. Featherstone saw Bowen out here earlier," he said. "And Snakes."

Jim frowned deeply. "I've been trying to clear Lucius," he said. "Is she sure it was him and Snakes?"

"Yeah. Not together or anything like that, but it sounded like Snakes from what she said. And if it was, chances are what he told us was an outright lie." Not finding any clues, Coley turned away in annoyance. "I'm going to have a look at the security camera tapes and see if he's on any of them."

"That could take a long time," Jim noted. "I should go back to where we saw him and look for him before he has the chance to get any farther away."

"He's probably already halfway to Canada by now," Coley grunted. "If he has any sense."

"Which he doesn't seem to have much of." Jim turned to go.

"His deal was with Posey and Pinto," Coley remarked. "If he's coming after us now, he has to be mixed up with the spies and they're paying him to do it." He headed for the side door, which opened only for the employees, and slid the required cardkey down the slot.

"That's what it sounds like," Jim agreed. "If Arte wakes up before I get back, tell him where I went."

"He might try to get up and go after you," Coley pointed out.

"That's possible," Jim agreed. "And if he's feeling alright, that's fine. If he's not . . ." He hesitated. "You'll just have to keep him here."

"And how would I do that?" Coley shot back.

"You'll think of something," Jim grunted as he walked off.

Muttering to himself, Coley hauled the door open and went back inside the building.

Jim had just given him a very tall order. He hoped it was not going to be necessary to enforce it.

xxxx

Lucius was feeling stunned, awed, and quite at home in the gang's house. It was all as he had envisioned from the papers and stories he had grown up with.

Sergei was always walking around eating something. Cyril was in constant delight of fire. Gallito loved his spiders and talked to them. Brutus was the strong and determined spokesman.

And Lucrece and Pinto . . . well, they were clearly the crafty criminals they had always been purported to be. But they were also clearly in love and very intrigued by Lucius.

He lost track of how long they talked. He told them how much they had been praised up in his family through the years and how he had longed to meet them. They related the tale of how they came to be in this time period and inquired after Lucius's profession. There were definite looks of shock when he admitted that he was currently an U.N.C.L.E. agent and fighting against crime instead of for it.

"Our whole line grew up with their paws in crooked pies," Pinto remarked. "And you're saying you've broke that?"

Lucius smirked. "I was as surprised as you. I used to be a hired gun. But I ended up knowing too much about my boss and U.N.C.L.E. recruited me to come work for them instead. They wanted the information I had. And I was in danger of getting a contract put out on me, so joining U.N.C.L.E. seemed the smartest thing to do."

Lucrece nodded. "That makes sense," she admitted. "But I hope this allegiance to an organization seeking law enforcement won't create an uncomfortable rift between us."

"I don't think such a situation would ever come up, but if it did, I wouldn't take any job that would compromise either of you," Lucius insisted. "I couldn't do that."

"I believe you," Pinto drawled.

"I was given a name similar to yours by my parents," Lucius said to Lucrece, "and I took the name Pinto as an alias to work under when I couldn't afford to let my real name get out." He looked to Pinto. "I've carried your memory with me all of my life. I never imagined I would actually meet either of you. It's . . . this whole experience is like something out of a fantasy book."

"But we're very much real," said Lucrece. "And this situation feels quite strange to us as well."

"Not in a bad way, though," Pinto mused. "At least not for me. I'm right tickled to meet our present-day flesh and blood. I wondered if someone like you existed."

"I hope I won't be a disappointment," Lucius declared.

"I hope not, either," Lucrece replied, "but you seem to have grown up well so far. Tell us more about yourself."

Lucius happily started to comply.

xxxx

Florence smirked to herself. Her plan was going just as she had believed it would. The assassin Blackburn hoped to kill had come. He was still with Lucrece and Pinto right now, inside their house.

She would see that the hitman was taken alive, just as her superiors wanted. But he would be conveniently killed as soon as she got the word to Blackburn about his capture.

Of course, she would have to wait for him to leave the home of his ancestors first. She did not want to become entangled in another battle with them.

But she did not mind waiting. Patience was one of her strong suits, especially when she was so close to arriving at her goals.

She had waited while her sister enacted her own, childish plots to gain wealth. It had been annoying, but she had known it would nevertheless be worth it. And she had been right—her patience had eventually resulted in Vivalene's defeat. Then Florence had been free to take over where Vivalene had left off.

She had already been dethroned herself, thanks to Perry Mason and his crew, but she would soon remedy that situation. Eventually she would once again have all the power she wanted.

And maybe this time around, she wouldn't have to resort to using a box filled with black magic to do it.

xxxx

Jane was coming out of Lafe's room when Coley went back inside. Seeing him, she padded over with a happy meow.

Coley bent down to pat her. "Hey, Jane," he greeted. "Lafe and Gordon doing okay?"

Jane purred, leaning into his hand. She had been going back and forth between the rooms, checking on both men. Now, seeming to feel that all was well, she wanted to go with Coley for a while.

He straightened, convinced that everything was alright. As he headed up the hall and towards the security room, Jane bounced alongside. When he opened the door to the room he wanted, Jane scampered in ahead of him and jumped into his chair and then onto the smooth top of the console, avoiding all the controls.

The security guard present, who was getting his lunch from across the room, looked over with a start. "Hey!" he exclaimed, looking at Jane. "What are you doing?"

Jane responded by flopping onto her side and stretching out on top of the console, one paw far out in front of her.

The guard shook his head. "I don't get how you always manage to miss the controls when you're jumping up there."

Jane half-closed her eyes, pleased.

"Go ahead and eat your lunch somewhere else, Rawlins," Coley grunted. "I need to check some things on the tapes from earlier today."

Rawlins blinked in surprise. "Of course, Sir," he nodded. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Nah, I think I've got it," Coley said. "Unless you can tell me if you remember seeing that Bowen guy hanging around. Or somebody with a long, ugly scar on the left side of his face."

Rawlins started to shake his head but then paused. "Maybe I do remember seeing them," he said. "Both of them. But nothing much could have happened with them or I'm sure I'd remember better."

Coley sat down at the console and began manipulating dials and pressing buttons. "I'll have a look and see for myself," he said. "Do you remember how far back this was?"

Rawlins stared into the distance as he considered the question. "In the morning, probably."

"After breakfast?"

"It could have been," Rawlins agreed. "It probably was."

Coley nodded. "Okay. Thanks."

Rawlins headed out and Coley started his search, idly petting Jane as he rewound the tape of the camera in the area he wanted. Jane purred, continuing to lie on her side and soak up the attention.

"There's Tolliver," Coley noted presently. He sent the tape back just a little more, to where Lucius wandered into view, and then set it to play normally.

Lucius was indeed roaming the area, seeming to be searching for something—or some_one_—in particular. And almost as soon as he left the camera zone, Snakes eased open the door and slipped outside. As Mrs. Featherstone had described, he looked very nervous. He skittered around the side of the building, in the opposite direction from Lucius.

Coley frowned. "How did he get that door open?" he wondered. "He doesn't have a cardkey."

Or at least, Snakes wasn't _supposed_ to have a cardkey. Had he procured one somehow? Or had the door already been unlocked, left that way by either an employee or by someone else who had gotten a cardkey?

Jane looked over, peering at the screen from a sideways perspective. Then, losing interest, she laid back on the warm machine, her fluffy tail lightly thumping behind her.

"If West finds Tolliver, he'd better drag him back here," Coley declared. "I've got some questions for that rat."

"Coley?"

Coley glanced up at Ray's voice. Ray was wandering into the room, looking both confused and surprised. Jane meowed a greeting. Ray stroked her head as he went over.

"Well, you're certainly making yourself comfortable," he commented.

Jane merowed.

"She gets up there a lot," Coley remarked. "Usually if I'm here, but not always. She knows she can get attention from pretty much any of the security team."

Ray chuckled. "And she probably likes how warm it is up there."

"That too." Coley glanced back at the screen. "Mrs. Featherstone said she saw Bowen and Tolliver hanging around the employees' wing after breakfast," he reported. "I was just looking into it. They were both there, and Tolliver especially looks like he was up to no good."

"Oh no," Ray groaned. "And who knows where he is now!"

"West went after him," Coley said. "Maybe he'll find him, maybe he won't."

"I wish he would. And I wish something would start to make sense around here!" Ray leaned on the edge of the console in exasperation.

"You and me both," Coley grunted.

He cursed in his mind as he remembered he hadn't yet called Ray's parents, as he had intended to do. So much had suddenly exploded forth today that he had barely had a chance to think about it, let alone to do it.

If Ray remembered, he didn't ask. And Coley determined that he would find a point to do so before that happened.

"Oh," Ray said suddenly, "the district attorney called about Lafe."

"Didn't that police lieutenant tell him what Lafe told me?" Coley frowned. "About the girl being named Carol something?"

"Yes, but he was still hoping Lafe might remember something else later on," Ray said. "He wondered if he or Mr. Sampson could come talk to Lafe later."

Coley shrugged. "I guess that'd be up to Lafe. He's supposed to be resting right now."

Ray nodded. "He is; he's asleep. I checked on him on my way down here."

"What about Gordon?"

"He finally fell asleep too." Ray straightened, his eyes darkening. "It's outrageous that this happened right here. I feel responsible, like I should have seen it coming and been able to stop it."

"You couldn't have seen it coming," Coley retorted. "And I suppose you could say that Gordon should have thought something might happen, if anyone figured out that he and West weren't just being friendly talking to all those people. Gordon's a trained secret agent. You're not."

"That's true," Ray conceded. "But I feel terrible about it anyway."

Coley nodded. "Yeah. I do too. And if I find out somebody on the security team is mixed up in it . . ." He trailed off, his eyes narrowing.

Ray laid a hand on his shoulder. "You couldn't have known about _that._"

"I should, though." Coley leaned back. "I knew that my old gang member Frank was trouble from the start. But it's worse with these guards. I've taught them, trained them. . . . And I still couldn't figure out which one was the bad apple in the past. I was hoping I was better at picking them by now."

"Maybe you are," Ray said. "But even if there's another snake in the grass, they're so clever and crafty that it makes sense you wouldn't realize it."

"When people are getting hurt, it's not a tolerable mistake," Coley growled. "And somehow, Tolliver got a cardkey to the employees' wing. Either that or somebody else unlocked the door before he slithered out."

Ray stiffened. "If he got a cardkey, maybe he still has it and we can trace down which one is missing," he suggested.

Coley nodded. "And I'll rewind the tape some more and see if there's any shot of anyone else at that door. But we should have a camera inside the door and not just outside," he proclaimed.

"You're right." Ray studied the various monitors. "Go ahead and order one." Before Coley could reply, Ray leaned forward, staring at one of the screens. "What the . . ."

Coley followed his gaze. "What is it?"

"That's Frank Cannon!" Ray exclaimed, pointing at the scene in question. "And it looks like he's talking to a woman with a scarf!"

xxxx

Jim had to trek to the train yard in his search for Snakes. He had tracked him by speaking to various passersby, several of whom remembered seeing him fleeing in this direction. Now, as Jim wandered the train yard, he searched for any sign of the wayward character.

It was somewhat of a surprise, really, that trains were still in existence and being used. With all the modern technology, he had thought they might be as obsolete as the telegraph.

Trains _had_ updated greatly from what Jim was familiar with. And it seemed that passenger trains, although still around, were not as popular as other means of transportation. The majority of the trains Jim was looking at now were cargo trains. And most of them looked as though they had seen better days. Some of them even had graffiti across most of their boxcars.

It was when he saw a bluish-purple sleeve vanishing into an old caboose that he sprang into action. Picking up speed, he dashed to the caboose just as it was starting to roll along the tracks and leaped aboard. As he rushed inside, he reached and caught hold of the arm.

In the next moment he heard a familiar yelp and the click of a gun being drawn.

"Don't try it, Snakes," he said darkly, drawing his own gun and sticking it in the outlaw's back.

Snakes went stiff. "I told you everything I knew," he argued. "What are you coming after me again for? You wanted me to get out as much as I wanted to go."

"That was before we found out that you were at the Oak Bridge Golf Club this morning," Jim said.

"I was where?!" Snakes was still clutching his gun. "What would I be doing there?"

"That's what you're going to tell us." Jim started to pull Snakes back towards the exit. Forced to go with him, Snakes stumbled and then tried to get his footing.

"You don't have any proof I was there," Snakes declared.

"How do you know?" Jim returned. "Can you prove you weren't there?" He glowered. "There's witnesses who say you were."

"Who?" Snakes challenged.

"I'm not going to say," Jim returned. "Just in case you get any ideas about going after them."

Snakes' shoulders slumped. "I was there," he admitted in resignation.

"Why didn't you say that before?" Jim demanded, pressing the gun harder.

"I didn't want to go into that!" Snakes exclaimed. "But not for the reason you're probably thinking."

"What am I thinking?" Jim's voice was low and dangerous.

"That I went there to cause trouble or spy on you or something," Snakes returned. "I didn't!"

Jim paused in front of the exit, letting Snakes see as the caboose was picking up speed. "Then why?"

Snakes stared as the tracks started to fly past. "Because . . ." He clutched at his own gun, even though he could not use it at the moment. "Because I was following that other Pinto guy!"

Jim rocked back. That was an answer he had not expected. "Lucius Bowen?"

"He just told me his name was Pinto, and boy, was he mad that I . . . well, you know, tried to shorten the lives of Posey and her Pinto." Snakes tried to get his gun pointed at Jim, but Jim refused to be distracted. His own weapon coldly clicked.

"So when you saw him driving past, you couldn't resist following him," Jim noted.

"That's right," Snakes nodded. "I tracked him to the golf club."

"And when you were seen by the employees' wing, you were still following him."

"The what?" Snakes shrugged helplessly. "I don't know where I was at the club, but sure, I was always following him."

"And he didn't notice or catch you?" Jim studied Snakes with a frown. "Maybe you don't know this, but this second Pinto is a trained assassin. He wouldn't overlook the fact of someone being after him. He would have noticed or heard you."

"He noticed me!" Snakes snapped at last. "He wanted to know what I was up to and threatened me if I tried to go after Posey and her Pinto again."

"You didn't mention any of this when you claimed you were telling us everything," Jim said, his eyes still narrowed.

"Everything about that conversation with the Stone people," Snakes retorted. "This didn't have anything to do with that!" He tried to pull away in spite of the gun. "Come on, West, you're not going to throw me off the train."

"But you might throw _me_ off," Jim returned. He changed directions, shoving Snakes hard against the wall next to the open exit. "I don't trust you from here to the train tracks." He pressed the gun against the back of Snakes' neck now. "Give me your gun."

Scowling, Snakes handed it over. "What are you planning on doing with me, West? You don't have no call to get me arrested."

"I'm not trying to get you arrested," Jim responded calmly. "You're going to come with me back to the golf club, tell your story, and stay there until we're sure you're telling the truth."

"Why wouldn't I be?" Snakes shot back. "What is it you're not telling me?"

Jim's eyes flashed and darkened. "Someone set up a bomb in Arte's and my room," he said. "And Arte walked into it. If that person was you . . ."

"It wasn't!" Snakes yelped in legitimate alarm. "Okay, so I know you and Gordon could've gone down with Posey and her crew on that mountain, and I'm not saying I would've cared if you had, but they were the ones I was really after all along. I wouldn't set my sights on you and Gordon!"

"Not even if someone paid you to do it?" Jim returned.

"No one paid me," Snakes insisted. "I was at the club following the other Pinto. That's _all._"

"We'll see." Jim hauled Snakes away from the wall and moved closer to the back of the caboose.

"You're not going to make me jump, at the speed we're going!" Snakes burst out.

Jim studied the scenery as they rushed past. Extracting the gun in his sleeve, he pulled the trigger and ejected his trusty grappling hook. It soared through the air, catching on two nearby boulders that were resting on a mountain the train was passing by.

"Go on!" Jim barked.

With the gun at his head, Snakes had little choice but to comply. He grabbed the rope along with Jim, his eyes wide and filled with fear as they flew off of the train and swooped through the air to land on the mountain ledge.

"Now that wasn't so bad, was it?" Jim said, still cold as he gathered his hook.

Snakes held a hand to his heart as he tried to catch his breath. "That's easy for you to say," he sputtered.

Jim prodded him towards the downward slope. "Come on," he ordered.

Without much other choice, Snakes obeyed.

xxxx

Frank Cannon found the woman with the scarf to be both intriguing and somehow concerning. She was very calm and collected as she spoke, but some of her questions seemed off.

"Now, Miss, I really don't know anything about Mr. Norman's chief of security," he said, keeping his voice light but staying on high alert. "I'm terribly curious; would you mind enlightening me as to why you're so interested?"

The woman looked disgruntled. "I wondered who he is. That's all." She shifted position. "I've heard that it's almost impossible to learn any background information on him."

"And why should you care about that?" Frank returned. "Not that it isn't interesting, but I fail to see what relevance it has to you or why you would even be investigating."

"Well . . ." She shrugged helplessly. "If I wanted to store some of my valuables here, like the Stones are doing, I'd rather know that the main person who would be guarding them was trustworthy."

"Mr. Norman must trust him," Frank replied. Finished with cleaning his golf club, he lined it up with the ball and struck it hard.

"I'm not sure that's a very encouraging thing," the woman said with a tight smile. "I'm new here. I only learned recently that Mr. Norman was a blackmailer."

"Ah, but _was_ happens to be a very key word," Frank said. "I'm personally acquainted with Mr. Norman, and I can assure you that he has indeed turned over a new leaf."

She quirked an eyebrow. "And I should believe you? Forgive me, but I don't know you, either."

"The Los Angeles Police Department can vouch for me," Frank said. He looked to her, stone serious now. "And who can vouch for you?"

"Me?! What have I to do with it?!" she exclaimed.

"Well, you see, I learned that someone was injured when a bomb exploded inside the building." Frank's eyes narrowed. "And right before it happened, security guards were chasing a woman with a scarf into the very wing where the bomb was planted."

She rocked back, visibly uncomfortable. "There could be lots of women with scarves here," she retorted.

"Yes, there could be," agreed Frank. "But I can only recall seeing one other besides you. And that was Mrs. Stone."

It was then that a golf cart came into view, driven by Ray with Coley accompanying him. The woman turned, adjusting her scarf and sunglasses.

"I don't mean any harm, Mr. Cannon," she said stiffly. "I'm sincere in what I'm wondering about the management here."

"You don't seem very keen on letting the management see you," Frank mused.

"If a woman with a scarf is a top suspect, it isn't hard to understand why, is it?" she shot back.

"No, it's not hard at all. But if you're innocent, it seems to me that you should be willing to stick around and prove it." Frank stared her down, while out of the corner of his eye he watched the cart stop and the occupants get out.

"Hold that woman!" Ray called.

Frank looked to him calmly. "Hello, Mr. Norman. I was hoping I'd see you, but I didn't think it would be under these circumstances. As for the young lady, I don't think she's going anywhere." He glanced back at the woman, who still looked like she wanted to bolt. "She wants to make sure she doesn't get accused of planting that bomb."

Coley crossed his arms. "I'd like to make sure she doesn't, either, if she didn't do it. I just want the one who _did._" He looked to her. "Where were you right before the bomb went off? That must've been around two hours ago."

"I was golfing," the woman responded with indignation. "I was nowhere near the employees' wing and I didn't set any bomb!"

Ray frowned. "Did you tell her it was in the employees' wing, Mr. Cannon?"

"No, I did not." Frank regarded her searchingly. "Now, you didn't actually say you weren't already aware of the explosion before I said anything. Were you golfing up to the time that you came across me? You didn't bring any clubs with you. But I'd have to wonder why you'd come back out here if you were already finished."

"I . . ." She looked back and forth between the three men, desperate for a way out. "I heard about the explosion when I took my clubs back. And I came back out because I lost an earring!"

"Perhaps," Frank said slowly. "But an explosion at a golf club is big news. If you'd just come from hearing about it, why didn't you pass the news along to me? And why haven't you acted as though you're looking for something? You didn't even ask me if I saw a missing earring. The only questions I've heard from you have been about Mr. Rodman here."

Coley shot the woman a Look. "What did you want to know about me?" he demanded.

"And why?" Ray added. "Are you in on the plot to kill him?! Are you the one who asked the Stones where the best place would be to do it?!"

She turned sheet-white. Snatching one of Frank's clubs from his golf bag, she swung it furiously at Ray, who ducked and grabbed for it. Letting it go, she ran for the golf cart.

Coley met her at the open door. "It won't do you any good," he said flatly. "Ray has the key." He took hold of her arm. "You'd better give us some answers. _Now._"

She looked at him in resigned helplessness. As the fight went out of her, her shoulders slumped. "How could you know about what I said to the Stones?" she wondered. "There wasn't anyone around."

"Obviously you're wrong," Ray said. "There _was_ someone."

He looked to Frank. "Thank you for holding her for us, Mr. Cannon." A weak smile. "I wasn't expecting to see you under these circumstances, either."

"I'm sure you weren't," Frank nodded. He eyed the two seats in the cart. "But you're going to need more than one golf cart to get back with her. How about I bring mine and come along?"

"Yes, please," Ray said in relief.

xxxx

To his relief, Arte woke up feeling far more refreshed than when he had lain down. He slowly eased himself out of the bed, yawning as he ran a hand through his hair. As he got up, shuffling towards the doorway, he paused in amazement to hear the voices in the corridor.

The first, deep and aloof and serious, was definitely Jim's; there was no mistake about that. But the second, which was also familiar, had a pronounced Southern accent. And the owner was very displeased about being there.

Arte raised an eyebrow. "James, James, whatever have you gotten into now?" he muttered, easing the door open.

Down the hall, by his and Jim's old room, Arte could see Jim pointing out the damage to a thoroughly disagreeable Snakes Tolliver.

"I didn't do that," Snakes insisted. "I was only here following that other Pinto. I told you that!"

"I know you told me." Jim pointed at the wreckage. "But now I want you to tell me if you can think of anyone who might build a bomb as a warning and not to kill."

Snakes took a few cautious steps forward. "It'd take an expert," he said slowly. "They'd have to know just how much of a charge to use so it wouldn't blow someone to pieces."

"The police already deduced that much," Jim said flatly. "And the last I heard, you're an expert."

"I could do it, alright," Snakes nodded. Rushing on, he added, "But I didn't!"

Jim crossed his arms. "What about Cyril? Could he do it?"

Snakes paused, thinking about it, and shook his head. "I don't think so. Cyril likes a lot of fire. Anyway, he wouldn't do anything unless Posey told him to. He just takes orders from her. And I don't know why Posey would do this to you all of a sudden."

"What if someone took the one thing she cares about and threatened to kill him if she didn't?" Jim suggested. "Would she do it then?"

Snakes looked back to him, an entertained grin tugging on his lips. "You mean that thing with her and Pinto? Well, I couldn't tell you about that. As far as I know, he's just a plaything to her. But he _is_ loyal to her. And she's got this thing about loyalty. I don't think she'd stand by and let him get killed."

"I don't think she would, either," Jim said.

"But she wouldn't let the gang get pushed around by someone else, either," Snakes went on. "She'd find a way to kill whoever was holding Pinto."

"A very interesting analysis, Snakes," Arte declared as he sauntered over, finally deciding to make his presence known. "And Jim and I happen to know that Miss Posey does love Pinto, very much. That would only make her all the more determined not to let anything happen to him."

Snakes jumped a mile. Jim turned, smiling to see Arte up and around. "Hey, Arte," he greeted. "You must be feeling a lot better."

"Oh, I am," Arte agreed. "It's the strangest thing, though, Jim. I have the feeling that I kept seeing a very fluffy head and green eyes peering at me whenever I started to wake up. But then when I fully woke up, nothing was there!"

Jim grinned. "So you think you were hallucinating the whole thing?"

"I don't quite know _what_ I think," Arte said.

"You know what I think?" Jim said, pretending to look contemplative. "I think Jane was checking up on you and Lafe. I saw her going in and out of your rooms."

Arte blinked. "Oh really? I thought she only had eyes for Coley and Ray."

"She cares about us, too," said Jim, "even if we can't convince her to leave Ray's office when she wants to wait up for him and Rodman."

Snakes looked back and forth between them. "Who's this Jane?" he wondered. Sneering, he added, "With a lot of fluffy hair she sounds like a real strange lady."

A disapproving meow made him look down in surprise.

Arte could not resist a smile. "That, Snakes," he said, seeing the silver Persian curling around the doorway, "is Jane. And she's quite a lovely lady, fluff and all."

Jane purred.

Snakes only had time to gawk in disbelief before the conversation was interrupted. Ray rushed down the hall, Frank Cannon right behind him.

"Mr. Norman, what's going on?" Arte queried, surprised now himself.

"Mr. Cannon got a call on his mobile phone just as we got back here," Ray announced. "There was a shooting in a neighborhood where one of Mr. Cannon's friends lives. And it's on the same street where Miss Posey is!"


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

The police had already arrived by the time Frank Cannon drove Jim and Arte out to the street in question. Red and blue lights twirled and flashed off the houses. People were peering out their windows, highlighted by the glows. And at the gang's house, everyone was outside on the lawn and the sidewalk.

"Miss Posey, what on Earth happened here?!" Arte exclaimed as he climbed out of the car.

Lucrece looked over, not entirely surprised but definitely irritated to see him. "Florence was waiting to ambush Lucius when he left," she said darkly, apparently aware that Arte would know who she meant by Lucius.

"What?!" Arte spun around to look through the crowd. "Is he here? Is he safe?"

"I'm right here." Lucius stepped out from behind Brutus and Sergei. "I shot at her, her men shot back, and the whole gang came out to help me fight them off. A couple of her men were wounded. Once the neighbors started turning on lights, Florence and her crew seemed to figure that there was too much going on and they turned and slinked away."

"But not before throwing a strange bomb with smoke," Cyril said. "When it cleared, they were gone."

Jim looked to Lucius. "Do you know why they wanted you?" he asked.

"Somewhat." Lucius's eyes narrowed. "Florence mentioned that Blackburn was going to be told about me."

"Blackburn?!" Frank Cannon spoke up. "The gangster?" His eyes narrowed. "Just what have you got to do with him?"

"Nothing anymore," Lucius said, glancing at him. "He wants me dead."

"Florence was just here, as though she knew he would come here," Lucrece said. "And that could only mean that either she or this Blackburn has some idea of the connection between us."

"Maybe they're just aware that he calls himself Pinto," said Jim. "They might not know that you're related."

"They might not," Lucrece agreed. "Although if they saw Lucius and Pinto standing together, I'm sure they'd quickly decipher that fact."

"We are going to stand guard, in case she comes back," Sergei said through a mouthful of sandwich.

"Probably a good idea," Arte acknowledged.

Suddenly becoming aware of all the strangers around them, Lucrece looked to the crowd in annoyance. Their residence had been garnering far too much attention of late. "Brutus, make them go away," she ordered.

Brutus stepped forward. "There is nothing to see here," he said. "Disperse to your homes."

Just the sight of his strong fist was enough to make the crowd do as he commanded. They began to depart in all directions, uneasy at the thought of Brutus's anger.

Lucius looked the group up and down. "Where's Mr. Rodman and Mr. Norman?" he asked with a frown.

"They stayed back at the golf club," Arte said. "We found a woman who may be the one involved in plotting Coley's death. He and Mr. Norman were going to interrogate her."

Jim nodded. "And if everything's alright here, I think we should get back there," he said. Snakes was still back there too, and although Jim didn't think Snakes would try to do something else stupid, it really was hard to say.

"Go right ahead," Lucrece said.

Lucius frowned. "I'd better go with them," he said. "Just to see if they've really turned up that woman. But I'll check in again later, even if it's just by phone."

"Take care of yourself," Pinto spoke for the first time since the detectives' arrival.

"I'm good at that," Lucius answered, pulling his hat down as he headed for his car. "Stay safe here."

"We will," Lucrece assured him.

She and Pinto stood by and watched as their visitors headed for their cars. "How strange," she mused.

"What is?" Pinto returned.

"That one of our descendents is working for 'the other side'," Lucrece remarked with a smirk.

Pinto smirked too, placing an arm around her shoulders. "Well, he wouldn't be if they hadn't offered him a good deal and if he hadn't needed to take it. I figure that if the same thing happened to one of us, we'd probably take it too."

"I suppose," Lucrece agreed.

"He's a good guy," Pinto said with confidence. "Even if he is working for the side of law and order, he won't ever do anything to betray us."

Lucrece nodded. She did think Pinto was right about that. ". . . Perhaps he'll need our help later," she said, "if that woman catches up with him."

"That's possible," Pinto agreed. "If you're feeling up to it, we can go out to the golf club in a bit and see how he's coming along."

"Perhaps," Lucrece said. "He can take care of himself. But . . . if she unleashes that entire troop of her men again, that would be enough to give any one man a great deal of trouble."

"Good point," Pinto said.

They turned, heading back towards the house. Behind them, the other gang members followed.

"What do you think about that picture he showed us?" Pinto said after a moment. "Are you up for a wedding on Christmas Eve?"

"I suppose that's as good a time as any," said Lucrece. "Considering that he has the picture, there isn't much I _can_ think. It's definitely us."

"It doesn't make much sense that the picture exists when we haven't even got married yet," Pinto mused. "Even stranger is that the picture plays a part in when we get married and make the picture in the first place." He stopped on the porch, turning Lucrece to face him. "This time-travel stuff is awfully off-the-wall."

Lucrece smiled, moving closer to him. "Well," she said, running her hands along the front of his shirt, "it's not so bad, is it?"

"Nope." Pinto leaned in and kissed her. "But it sounds like we do end up going back to the old time. Otherwise, we couldn't have a long line of descendents like this."

Lucrece nodded. "True," she mused. "From what Lucius told us, however, we're not arrested again. We're free to stay together. And perhaps we come back to visit."

Pinto smirked. "Living in two times. That'll be weird. But I don't think I'll mind it. As long as we're together, that's the most important thing."

Lucrece smiled, returning the kiss.

The red and blue police lights flashed around them and the porch.

xxxx

Coley glowered at the mysterious woman, placing one hand on his hip as he leaned on the console in the security room with his other hand. She was sitting in his chair, her hands in her lap.

"Okay," Coley said. "You confessed that you asked the Stones about the best place to kill me. Let's have the rest of the story."

"You have it, don't you?" she countered, still resigned.

"We want to know how many people holed up here over the weekend are into your racket," Coley replied. "If even one of them's left to run loose, disasters could still happen."

"I'm the main contact," she said. "The Stones are involved, but they don't want to be. My organization forced them into it because they know Ray Norman. They were threatened with his murder if they didn't help."

"What!" Ray's eyes flashed. "I knew they wouldn't deliberately go bad unless something was very wrong."

Coley glanced to him, disgusted and angry with the new information. "Your organization is a real piece of work," he said. "Why was it so important to use this place for your meeting or your drop or whatever you're doing?"

She shook her head. "I don't know that myself," she said. "I only followed orders to come here."

"But I'm not part of this at all," Snakes spoke up from where Ray was guarding him across the room. "Tell them that."

She glanced to him. "You're not, as far as I know," she said. "But I don't know what they might have set up without telling me. I'm not ranked that highly. I don't think I know all of the agents who are here."

"Oh, well, that's just great," Coley grunted.

"It's the truth!" she insisted.

Snakes had turned pale. "I don't know anything about this!" he cried. "I swear it; I was on my way up to Canada when West grabbed me and brought me back!"

"If that's all true, then you don't have anything to worry about on that front," Ray said coldly. "But I can't say I'm in much of a mood to be hospitable after your bomb almost killed Coley."

"But it didn't," Snakes said. "He's alive and well here."

"Only because a miracle saved him," Ray said. "I should have you arrested for attempted murder."

"I wasn't trying to kill him!" Snakes exclaimed. "And anyway, you'd have a hard time explaining to the police _how_ I almost killed him."

"You didn't care if he died," Ray said, narrowing his eyes. But unfortunately, Snakes was right. Ray didn't even have any evidence to present on the charge.

"Okay, look," Coley spoke again, addressing the woman. "You surely at least know about when all of your organization's plans are supposed to go down. Aren't you going to have a meeting or something?"

"There will be a meeting," she said. "Early in the morning, as soon as it starts getting light across the golf course. We're to meet at the 11th hole."

"Then that's why you were there today," Ray realized. "You were scoping it out."

She shrugged. "I didn't want to get lost on the way to the rendezvous."

"The Stones are supposed to be there, right?" Coley said.

She nodded. "Yes."

"Well, they've up and disappeared. Now how about you tell us where they are."

"The only thing I know is they were rebelling and they were taken underground until the meeting, so they couldn't warn you or Mr. Norman."

"You're sure they're not dead?!" Ray demanded.

"I'm sure," she said. "They're wanted at the meeting. They have certain information that my superiors want from them."

"But they'll be killed after the meeting, won't they," Ray breathed in alarm. "If they're rebelling, there won't be enough reason to keep them alive."

"They'll probably be killed, yes," she admitted. "But I don't know how or when."

"They must be being held somewhere on the property," Ray mused. "Unless they were never brought back here after that meeting Snakes overheard."

"They might be here," she consented. "But I don't know for sure."

"Well, we're going to look," Coley said. He hauled her to her feet. "And you're coming with us."

"You too," Ray said to Snakes.

"I tell you, I'm not part of this!" Snakes protested.

"If you're not, _maybe_ we'll send you on your way to Canada," Ray said. "But if you are . . ." His eyes narrowed. "We'll either turn you over to the police here or let Mr. West and Mr. Gordon take you back with them to your own time and face the police there."

Snakes gulped. "I'm not," he said again. "You'll find out."

"We'll see." Ray prodded Snakes towards the door, the illegal gun at his back.

Without any other choice, Snakes opened the door and stepped into the hall, Ray right behind him.

xxxx

Jim and Arte were quiet on the walk back to Frank's car. After a deep sigh, Arte was the first to speak.

"Jim, what are we going to do now?" His voice was low and grim. "I never stopped to really think about this problem before. If we arrest Miss Posey and Pinto and drag them back to jail, this family line of theirs won't be likely to happen. You know as well as I do that Pinto will probably be executed and Miss Posey will live out her life in prison. That will mean Lucius won't be born into that family and who knows what will be happening in the present day."

"You mean we might destroy the entire space-time continuum," Jim intoned.

"Or at the very least, lose us a valuable ally and U.N.C.L.E. a valuable agent." Arte shook his head. "And yet, how can we let two dangerous criminals run free, even to save the timeline?"

Jim frowned. It was definitely an awkward situation. "We do know that Lucius said they never were able to start their criminal empire," he mused. "Who knows—maybe starting a family keeps them too busy to even try."

"I wouldn't count on that," Arte said. "But . . . true, at least they fail. And what are you willing to bet that they fail because we keep stopping them?"

Jim smirked a bit.

"What are you two whispering about?" Frank was standing at the car, waiting, his eyes narrowed. He did not seem like the friendly fellow from mealtime and the golf course. Now he was grim and suspicious.

Arte looked up with a start. "Oh . . . just about the shooting," he said.

"That's a strange gaggle of characters back there," Frank said, opening the car door. "They're the ones who were attacked by this Florence on the news the other day. Just who are they and how do you know them? In fact, how does Lucius Bowen know them?"

Jim and Arte exchanged a Look. This could be problematic.

"Well, you see," Arte said, stepping forward, "Mr. Bowen is related to them. And they just happen to be mutual acquaintances of Jim and myself."

"Why?" Frank persisted.

Arte shrugged. "Why not?"

"I'll tell you why not, Mr. Gordon." Frank glowered at Lucius, who had lingered behind to talk with Lieutenant Anderson. "Because I've been trying to remember where I've seen that man before. And now, after becoming aware that he knows how to use a gun, I think I've placed him.

"I encountered a mysterious and silent assassin on one of my cases. I never got a real good look at him, but he dressed similarly to this man and he enjoyed apples. He sniped at me, threatened a friend of mine, and disappeared into the night, never to be seen again or captured."

Jim seemed to take it all in stride. "Why don't you ask Mr. Bowen about that?" he replied.

"Mr. Bowen hasn't exactly been forthcoming with answers," Frank said. "I thought the two of you might be more willing to talk."

Arte rubbed the back of his neck. "Frankly, Mr. Cannon, I'm just not sure we have the right to say anything. Lucius is involved in a very delicate and dangerous operation at the moment. Failure _could_ result in many deaths, including his and ours."

Frank frowned, sizing up him and his answer. "Alright," he said at last. "I'll talk to Mr. Bowen again. But I should warn you that I'm very persistent. I have a list of enemies longer than the lines at the latest teen idol concerts, because I refuse to let go when something smells. And this situation, gentlemen, is really starting to reek."

Arte cringed, but tried to smile. "We couldn't agree with you more, Mr. Cannon," he said as he got into the car.

xxxx

Lucius turned away from Lieutenant Anderson, frowning to himself as he headed back to his car. He had not wanted to, but he had been forced to show the Lieutenant his U.N.C.L.E. identification to get him to back down.

Lieutenant Anderson still wondered why Florence was interested in him, and why she had cornered him here, at this house, and he had white-lied by saying it was all part of official U.N.C.L.E. business.

It hadn't quite had the desired effect; Lieutenant Anderson had flatly informed him that this was still the jurisdiction of the L.A.P.D., and that any U.N.C.L.E. mission that interfered with the citizens and injured them in any way was going to be thoroughly investigated.

Lucius was angry, but more at himself and at Florence and Blackburn than he was at the police. They had a right to be furious and bewildered over this mess.

If he hadn't come tonight, the shootout would not have happened. But Florence still would have been here. She didn't know where he was staying, so obviously she had been waiting for him to come here. Either she or Blackburn knew he had a reason to be interested in Lucrece Posey and her crew. That was a deep concern. His ancestors and the others were now all in danger from his enemies. And his identity might have been compromised.

He hauled open the car door, reaching for his communication device at the same time. He was going to have to tell Mr. Waverly about this. And Mr. Waverly wasn't going to like it, either.

A piece of paper taped to the steering wheel gave him pause. He certainly hadn't stuck anything there. Someone had broken into his car and then had locked it back up so well that he had not suspected a thing.

He snatched the paper away and unfolded it.

_Florence is a fool. Make no mistake, Pinto,_

_I know who you are and where you have_

_taken refuge. And if you don't surrender_

_yourself, your boss is going to be very dead_

_and U.N.C.L.E. will be without a leader._

Lucius's eyes burned. Blackburn had found him.

Drawing out his communication device, he immediately tried to make contact. "Open Channel D," he ordered.

"Channel D open," came the strained and worried voice of some switchboard operator.

Lucius instantly picked up on her tone. "What is it?" he demanded. "This is Agent Bowen. Something's gone wrong there; I can tell."

"Oh, Mr. Bowen . . . !" The girl sounded like she was about to have an attack of hysteria. "It's Mr. Waverly. He's . . . he's been taken prisoner by some nut!"

Lucius swore in his mind. It was as he had feared. "How long ago?" he wanted to know.

"A couple of hours, at least. His wife's trying to be calm; he's been abducted before and all, and he's been found alright, but this is something new and different and she can't help being worried. Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin are already investigating, but they can't find any leads and . . ."

"Tell them it's a man named Blackburn who's done it," Lucius interrupted darkly. "And tell them to wait for further instructions. Blackburn wants me, not Mr. Waverly. He's already contacted me and wants me to surrender myself to him. He'll contact me again."

The girl gasped. "Blackburn?! The man you joined U.N.C.L.E. to bring down?"

"That's right. Now, just give the agents the message and wait. I'll call in as soon as I hear from him again. Channel D, out."

Lucius closed the device and stuck it back in his pocket, disgusted and angry. Immediately he began to search the car for any tracking or listening devices. None were apparent, but he searched deeper. He had a hard time believing Blackburn wouldn't have left something.

His thoughts swirled and wandered as he worked.

This should have been a routine case. How had everything suddenly turned on its head? And how had Blackburn found him? Was there a traitor in U.N.C.L.E.? Or had one of the spies he was chasing recognized him and told Blackburn?

"Mr. Bowen?"

He jumped a mile and backed out of the car, starting to reach for his gun as he turned. Frank Cannon was standing nearby, deeply frowning. Behind him, Jim and Arte were getting out of the classic car and coming over.

"I must confess that I heard a great deal of your conversation, Mr. Bowen," Frank stated. "And now may I ask, who are you really? You _are_ the assassin who terrorized my friend and I in El Paso, aren't you?"

Lucius glowered, slamming the car door shut. "I don't have time for this right now."

"I'm afraid you may have to make time, Lucius," Arte said apologetically. "Mr. Cannon has started to become very angry since he started putting two and two together. And I think you would do better to have him as an ally and not an enemy."

Jim nodded. "We all would. At the moment, he isn't sure what to think of us, either."

"I can't help that." Lucius looked back to Frank. "I hadn't wanted to mention it to anyone, but yes. Yes, we encountered each other in the past and yes, it was when I sniped at you in Texas. It was a job."

"And now you're on another job, this time for the U.N.C.L.E.," Frank deduced. "They hired someone like you?"

"They needed me," Lucius growled. "And they still need me. Right now, I'm the only way they'll get their boss back. I know about Blackburn and his operations. And I know what he wants."

"You," Jim remarked.

"But surely you're not really going to surrender yourself to him," Arte exclaimed. "It's highly unlikely that he would let Mr. Waverly go, even if you did."

"I know that," Lucius retorted. "And I also know that he'll be contacting me again. I have to wait for that communication before I can start planning my counterattack."

"And if you fail?" Frank's visage had not lightened.

"Mr. Waverly is expendable, if it comes to that." Lucius's voice was hard. "He instructed me himself that the most important thing is to bring Blackburn down, once and for all. This might sound crazy to you, but the future of the world directly depends on it. You don't know what his ultimate scheme is."

"No, but I think you'd better tell us," Arte said. "We've dealt with quite a few madmen wanting to destroy the world."

"And you might need all the help you can get to counterattack," Jim put in.

Frank was staring at them now, clearly wondering who _they_ really were. And Lucius was grim as he looked from one to the other.

"There's local U.N.C.L.E. agents who'll be getting in on this action," he said. "As well as two from my home branch in New York. They'll never stay away from this.

"But it might be difficult for any U.N.C.L.E. agents other than me to make a move. You're right, I might need you."

"Good," Arte nodded. "Then let's all sit down and have a long talk."

Frank looked Lucius up and down as they headed towards his car. "Is your boss's life really expendable to you in this situation?" he wanted to know.

Lucius regarded him coldly. "I'll do all that I can to save him," he said. "Just not at the expense of the mission. Those are my orders."

He was not about to say aloud that his stomach was turning at the thought of having to allow Mr. Waverly to be killed in order to decimate Blackburn and his plans. It should be another job, just like anything else.

But Mr. Waverly had taken him in two years ago, trusting him enough to make him an U.N.C.L.E. agent in spite of what he was. Lucius had lived up to that trust. And even though he would stay with U.N.C.L.E. for as long as they would have him, he did not like the idea of working for a new boss.

For the first time that he could really remember, he also did not like his job.

xxxx

Ray was growing increasingly tense and worried the longer their search went on. They had been all over the buildings, in every room and in each niche, looking for the Stones. Ray was afraid that they were not being held captive at the golf club. From Coley's expression, he felt the same way.

"There aren't many more places you can look," the woman said, disgruntled and annoyed from being dragged all over with them.

"And I suppose you know that because you've been staking the place out," Coley said flatly, unimpressed.

"Something like that," she mumbled.

"We've been to all the most logical places, including the old storage sheds that aren't used much anymore," Ray said in frustration. "What's left?!"

"Mostly the illogical places," Coley grunted. "Stuff like the freezer, the safe . . ." He trailed off, swearing under his breath. "Are you sure the Stones are going to be kept alive until after the meeting?"

The woman blinked. "Well, that's certainly what I was told," she said defensively.

Coley shoved her ahead of him towards the main building. "We're going to find out if you were lied to," he said grimly.

Now newly frantic about his friends' lives, Ray took off at a run, dragging Snakes with him by the wrist.

The freezer was empty of human life, much to their relief and the cooks' bewilderment. But when Ray turned the knob on the walk-in safe and pulled open the heavy door, he stiffened in horror.

"Mrs. Stone!" he cried, rushing into the room and kneeling next to the limp woman on the floor.

Coley gripped both prisoners by their wrists. "Is she alive?" he demanded.

Ray gave a shaky nod. "Thank God, she is," he said. "I'll send for an ambulance right now." He started to reach for his phone.

Mrs. Stone stirred at the sound of the voices, moaning under her breath. "My husband," she rasped. "The jewels. . . ."

"What about them, Mrs. Stone?" Ray asked worriedly. "Where is your husband?"

"Prisoner," she choked out. "And they . . . they have the jewels." She passed a weak hand over her eyes. "They're . . . they're not really jewels."

"What are they then?" Coley snapped in confused disbelief.

"They're the components for . . . for the doomsday device . . . timed to go off at midnight, Christmas Eve." Mrs. Stone barely managed to get the words out before sinking back into a dazed and semi-conscious state.

"Doomsday device?!" Ray echoed in horror. "There's only a little over a day to find and stop it!"

Snakes went sheet-white. "You'd better start saying your prayers, pal, because more than likely, we're all going to die," he moaned.

"Shut up," Coley hissed.

But he was wondering himself if that was going to be the truth.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

"Excuse me?"

Lafe looked up in confused surprise at the impersonal, deep voice. He had just barely started waking up a few minutes ago and had decided to get up and find Coley. And if this person sounded a little less stiff and a little more informal, he would sound a lot like Coley himself.

"Who are you?" he mumbled, squinting towards the doorway.

A stranger in a modern suit wandered in. "My name is Gregory Sampson, Sir. I work with Mr. Burger, the district attorney." He held out a hand to shake.

Lafe took the hand, almost blankly giving it a shake. "Okay," he said slowly. "Coley said that somebody wanted to stop by and ask me about that girl again."

"Do you feel like talking now?" Sampson asked.

"I guess so," said Lafe. "But I don't think I'll be any help to you."

"Have you remembered anything else?" Sampson queried in hopeful concern.

Lafe shrugged. "I know the girl's name is Carol. That's all."

Sampson sighed, but wasn't about to give up. "You don't know anything else? Her surname, perhaps?"

"Her what?" Lafe blinked at him. Then he sighed too, realization dawning. "Oh. Her last name? No, I don't know."

"What about the strange, invincible man?" Sampson tried again.

"I told everything I know," Lafe said. "Oh, but did you find out anything about the weird bullet he fired at me? Maybe that's another of his trademarks."

"There is someone who's been firing sleeping powder-laced bullets every now and then," Sampson admitted. "The same mysterious man the police have been unable to wound. It all ties together. If we just had a little more information!" He sounded more animated now, desperate and longing.

"I'd help you if I could," Lafe said with a frown. "I want this guy caught too. And for the Carol girl to be found alright."

Apparently realizing he was pushing too hard, and fruitlessly, Sampson straightened. "Thank you anyway," he said.

"Yeah. Hey, I'll call if I remember anything else," Lafe said. "But I'm not really counting on it happening."

The sound of the ambulance siren startled them both. "What's going on now?" Sampson frowned. "It sounds like the ambulance is right here!"

Lafe struggled out of bed. "If it is, anybody who's here could be hurt," he exclaimed. "Maybe even Coley. Sorry, Mr. Sampson; I have to go check on him." And he hurried to the door as quickly as he could manage to go.

Sampson, not wanting to be left alone in someone's room, and really wondering what was happening himself, followed.

xxxx

Coley was standing in the lobby, Jane rubbing against his legs, when Lafe approached moments later. He looked over, hearing Lafe's worried call. "Are you really feeling alright enough to be up?" he wondered.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Lafe said. "But what's with the siren, Coley? That Mr. Sampson guy said it's from an ambulance. What's it doing here?"

Coley exhaled in exasperation. "Somebody locked Mrs. Stone in the safe," he said. "She's not doing too well. And . . ."

He hesitated, pushing back his hat. Lafe needed to know what she had said, but he wondered what the best way was to say it.

"Lafe, maybe you'd be safer going back through the portal," he said at last.

"Huh?" Lafe stared at him. "Why?"

"Because there's a chance the whole world might get blown up in the here and now," Coley said in frustrated disgust. "I haven't suggested it to Ray yet, but I'm going to say that he should go back through the thing too, for his own safety. Mrs. Featherstone and Jane, too. I know it wouldn't be much fun living in the past after this, but at least they'd be alive. You too."

Lafe was gaping in utter shock and bewilderment. "Coley, what are you talking about?!" he cried. "Why would the world get blown up?!"

"Lafe, not so loud!" Coley scolded. "But somebody has some doomsday device. I know it sounds nuts, but there were people trying to blow up the world in our day too. Who knows how much more advanced those kinds of things are by now. And we don't have any idea where this one is!"

"Excuse me . . ." Coley and Lafe froze at the additional voice. "But what's this about a doomsday device? And this mention of 'your' day?"

Coley looked over as Sampson approached—confused, baffled, and disbelieving. "You have _got_ to be kidding me," Coley muttered under his breath. He had noticed the resemblance not only in Sampson's voice, but in his appearance—although Sampson was a few years younger.

If Sampson noticed, he was more concerned with other problems right now. "Well?" he demanded, folding his arms.

"Oh, it's just a bunch of nuts," Coley said. "And _our day _. . . eh, it's just a way of talking."

"Hmm." From Sampson's unimpressed look, he didn't believe it. But he had no time to question it, as the paramedics rushed in right then.

"Where's the patient?" the dark-haired one demanded, breathlessly.

"I've been waiting to lead you to her," Coley said. "This way." He turned and headed down the hall towards the room with the safe, Jane right at his heels.

"Hey," the paramedic called after him, "I'm sure you're the guy from last night. Right? And you're the hotel lobby patient from last night!" he added, as Lafe joined the procession.

"Johnny, nevermind. It doesn't matter," hissed the sandy-haired one.

Lafe stared at them both, blankly. "I don't remember you guys," he said. "But if you were treating me I guess I was out of it at the time."

"Yeah, you could say that," Johnny said as he glanced over his shoulder. "We didn't think you'd be up and around so soon."

"He probably shouldn't be," Coley muttered up ahead.

xxxx

Ray looked up in relief as the others converged on the open safe. "It's about time you got here!" he said to the paramedics. "I've been trying to give her artificial respiration so she'll breathe easier, but I'm not sure it's been helping much."

"We'll take over from here," the sandy-haired one said as they knelt down.

Ray wandered over near Coley. "I still can hardly believe it," he said quietly, still shaken by what had been happening.

It wasn't a good time to make a comment about breathing into people like paper bags still creeping him out, so Coley sighed and laid a hand on Ray's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said. "You shouldn't have had to see that. You shouldn't have had to deal with any of what's been happening. I don't even know if it's safe for you to stay in this time."

"Because of the doomsday device?" Ray ran a hand over his tired and aching eyes. "Well, if we all die, it's a couple of days past schedule."

Coley raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh . . ." Ray sighed too. "Just some silly superstition based on something in the Mayan calendar. It ends on December 22nd, 2012—today."

"Heh." Coley frowned. "Funny these people didn't decide to milk that."

"Well, anyway." Ray turned to face Coley in surprise. "Wait a minute. _This _time? Are you suggesting we try escaping to the past?"

Coley shrugged. "It's just a thought, maybe if things get closer to the date and the thing hasn't been found yet."

"But you don't know if that immunity will go through!" Ray exclaimed. "It could be deadly for you to go back!"

"At this point, it looks like it's deadly everywhere," Coley said.

Ray couldn't argue with that. "I don't know what to do," he said. "And if we do get out of here, what about my parents? They'd still be here. I can't stand the thought of leaving them behind."

Coley swore in his mind. "I really meant to call them," he said. "This just hasn't been a good day for it."

"I know," Ray said, "and it means a lot to me that you wanted to help out. But . . ." He looked towards the hall. "I'd better call them myself. Just in case that device can't be found and disarmed, I . . . I want to know I talked to them one last time."

". . . Are you going to warn them?" Coley asked.

Ray hesitated. "Maybe. But maybe I should wait and talk to Lucius first. I have a feeling he knew about at least some of this."

"You mean maybe he knew about this device?" Coley frowned.

"Yes. He said it was serious business. And what could be more serious than this?" Ray threw up his hands. "We're faced with the possible destruction of the entire world."

Coley nodded. "Not much could top that," he consented.

He glanced to Snakes, who was shifting his weight nervously and watching the paramedics load Mrs. Stone onto a gurney. "How were you getting along with him while I was in the lobby?" Coley queried.

"Fine," Ray said. "Actually, he didn't really say a word. I don't know what he's thinking."

"Maybe he'll decide to go try to join up with them," Coley grunted. "I suppose they have some way of shielding themselves from the blast."

"Probably," Ray frowned. "They wouldn't want to kill themselves."

"Not that they'd gain much by having Snakes around, but he'd better not run off and do that," Coley growled. He shot Snakes a warning look. Snakes started and looked back, still tense.

The paramedics started to wheel Mrs. Stone out of the room. "We're taking her to Rampart," the sandy-haired one said to Ray.

"Good," Ray said. "Tell the doctors to let me know how she's doing."

"Will do," Johnny said with a wave. "I think she's going to be okay."

"I hope so," Ray said fervently.

Snakes waited until the strangers left before speaking. "What was that look for?" he cried, staring at Coley.

"Well, you see, you're like a yo-yo," Coley said. "You go here and there and wherever you feel like you're going to try next. And frankly, I'm sick of it. If you try it again, and get away from us, I might be tempted to plug you in the back."

"I don't have any loyalties to any of you," Snakes shot back.

"You don't have any loyalties to anyone but yourself," Coley replied. "That's why you keep getting in so much trouble—you can't keep any of the commitments you make. Not to Posey, not to Florence, and not to anyone else you might try to get in with. You're like some kid who thinks he wants one thing but can't hold still for more than a minute because something else is catching his eye. You always think some other alliance will be better than the last one, and maybe for a while it is, until you start getting suspicious of everybody there and thinking they're all going to turn against you."

Snakes flinched. "You make me sound a lot worse than I am."

"I'm making you sound exactly like you are." Coley leaned on the wall with one hand. "You're going to have to either pick somebody and stick with them or just give up on trying and stay a lone wolf."

"And if I pick somebody, it should be you and your crew, right?" Snakes supplied.

"Only if you can stick with us," Coley said flatly. "We've got enough trouble. We don't need somebody who really just wants to go into business for himself."

"I never wanted to come here," Snakes reminded him. "West just brought me. And I can't help you with this new problem. I have no idea where this doomsday thing is! If I knew, don't you think I'd want to stop it, too?"

Coley gave him a hard look. "Unless you had some other way of surviving it being used," he said. "But I think even if you tried falling in with whoever's set it up, they'd be glad to get rid of you. They'd probably leave you out in the cold to die with the rest of us."

Snakes glowered. He was not about to admit that Coley could very well be right. "I'm not in on it," he insisted. "And what do we do now?"

"I'm going to call Gordon," Coley said. "He should have that phone Ray gave him."

"And I think you should tell me what's going on as well."

Everyone stiffened at the sudden sound of Sampson's voice. He stepped out from around the corner, his arms folded and his expression most unamused and displeased.

"How much did you hear?" Lafe asked slowly, his stomach dropping.

"More than enough about some doomsday device," Sampson answered. "It sounds insane. But I want to and need to know about it, if it's genuine and not an immature prank."

"I'm afraid it's very much for real," Ray said grimly.

"It is."

Again everyone turned, startled by another voice. Lucius walked in, with Jim, Arte, and Frank Cannon closely following him. Lucius faced a curious and concerned Sampson.

"I've been assigned to be here for a meeting of some of the spies," he said, holding out his identification. "U.N.C.L.E. has known for over two years that Buddy Blackburn, the criminal kingpin, has been planning a doomsday device with his organization THRUSH. For a while now, we've been afraid that they've been getting close to unleashing it."

"They're extremely close!" Ray exclaimed. "The jewels in our safe are apparently the components for the thing, at least according to Mrs. Stone. They're holding Mr. Stone hostage and left Mrs. Stone to die in the safe!"

"And she says knock-off time is midnight on Christmas Eve," Coley added.

Arte cringed. "Just a little over a day away," he breathed. "And you say you have to wait for further communication from Blackburn before doing anything?!" He looked to Lucius in newly kindled alarm.

"He'll contact me in enough time for us to find the location," Lucius said. "He'll want to give me an ultimatum and have me right there, watching them launch their weapon. Now that he knows I'm an U.N.C.L.E. agent, he knows that saving Mr. Waverly and the world are things that are important to me. To cause me to fail in both goals, before seeing that I die, would give him the highest level of satisfaction."

"He certainly must have a grudge against you," Arte said, shaking his head.

"He wants me dead because I know too much. He's the reason I was offered the job with U.N.C.L.E. He probably finds it too deliciously sweet that I'm among his worst enemies on several counts now."

Coley frowned. "You know, you said you didn't know anything about the spies you were coming here to catch," he said. "You didn't say anything about the possibility of them making something to blow up the world."

"I didn't know these spies, specifically, were involved with it," Lucius retorted. "Besides, I had orders not to mention anything about the doomsday device unless I absolutely had to. We try not to cause panic on our missions."

Jim nodded. "That's understandable. We're under similar orders when we're on assignment."

"You go on assignments too?" Sampson exclaimed. "Who are you and who do you work for?!"

"Nevermind," Jim said. "The most important thing is finding that doomsday device. And planning how to stop it. Do you have any ideas on exactly what they're making?" He looked to Lucius.

"With components disguised as jewels?" Lucius returned. "I don't have the faintest idea."

"Hey," Lafe spoke up suddenly, "does anyone else smell something funny?"

Everyone froze. "There _is_ something," Arte gulped. "Probably some kind of gas."

"What?!" Ray's eyes flashed as he dug into his pocket for a handkerchief. "Where's it coming from?"

"Possibly from inside the safe," Jim said. "But if it is, it's colorless."

"Everyone out!" Arte ordered, stepping out himself and gesturing for the others to follow.

It didn't take much coaxing. Everyone scrambled out of the open walk-in safe and Coley heaved the door shut. Although there were still faint traces of the gas in the air of the room and outside in the hallway, it did not seem to be as thick. Nor did it seem to be accumulating.

An eerie voice crackled through the P.A. system.

"You're all getting tired, aren't you? Give in to it. You'll get even sleepier when you hear the bell."

Understanding sparked in Ray's eyes. "Those people in the hotel," he gasped. "They were hypnotized when they heard a bell. The only thing that brought them out of it was the alarm going off!"

"So it's narco-hypnosis," Arte mused. "Hypnosis by means of a drug! Of course; a drug would be the easiest way to establish group hypnosis."

Sampson gaped. "This is preposterous! What earthly reason would they possibly have to . . ."

A piercingly loud and deep recording of a bell echoed up and down the halls, cutting him off. Coley and Snakes covered their ears in displeasure.

"Let's pretend it worked," Jim said over the noise. "Act exhausted and freeze in place. Maybe we'll catch a glimpse of who's behind this and why they're doing it here."

Ray trembled, suddenly afraid. It wasn't really likely, he supposed, but . . . what if Dr. Portman was involved? What if this was how she planned to come and forcefully take him back for more experiments?

Coley laid a hand on his shoulder. "It'll be okay," he said. "We've both dealt with crazy docs and come out on top. This is something else now, different people, but we'll still win."

"But _is_ it different people?" Ray wondered quietly.

"I'm sure it is," Coley said. "I haven't heard about any breakouts from the crooks' nuthouse."

"Now that's a most improper and disrespectful way to refer to the asylum," Sampson scolded, stressed by the current situation but likely also genuinely upset by Coley's terminology.

Coley glanced to him. "You know, after what we've been through because of them, I honestly don't give a flyin' fig about being respectful to crazy crooks."

"Alright, nevermind!" Frank inserted. "I don't understand what's going on here, but some of you seem to know more about it, so I will defer to your knowledge. Let's do what Mr. Gordon said and pretend to be affected by the gas and the apparent hypnotic suggestion. Someone's bound to come down this corridor any minute."

Jim, Arte, and Lucius were already freezing into place. Frank, Ray, and Sampson slowly followed suit, with Ray picking up a confused Jane to hold.

Coley gave a dark smirk. "I never thought _we'd_ be the ones acting paralyzed," he said to Lafe.

Lafe managed a nervous smirk back.

Moments after they and Snakes also froze, a large and ominous shadow appeared around the corner. As they watched in bewildered and disconcerted amazement, a menacing hulk of a man walked out, adorned in a tan coat with white furry lining. He studied the group with a frown and a searching eye and then started to push them aside to reach for the door of the safe.

Instantly Jim and Frank came to life, grabbing his arms. "Don't bother," Jim said flatly. "The jewels aren't in there."

The man went stiff, not sure whether to be more unnerved by Jim moving or by what he had said. But then he tore free, snarling as he grabbed for the door once again.

"You're the guy who tried to kill me!" Lafe yelled.

Once more distracted, he turned, glowering at Lafe. "And you should be dead," he said.

"Well, he's not, thank goodness, and I'm sorry, but we can't let you open this safe." Arte planted himself in front of the door. "You might be immune to the gas as well as to bullets, but unfortunately, we are not."

"You'll have to take our word for it that the jewels aren't there," said Jim. "And we know what they really are—components for your very own Armageddon."

The man looked honestly stunned now. "How do you know?" he countered.

"How did _you_ know that we were all standing in the open safe when you turned your gas on, instead of it still being sealed with poor Mrs. Stone inside?" Ray demanded.

"He must've seen the ambulance taking her away," said Lucius. "Unless he wasn't aware that Mrs. Stone was in there at all." His eyes narrowed. "Maybe he thought the door would be open for another reason. There's a nightly check around this time, isn't there?"

"Yeah, there is," Coley frowned. "He could've figured I was doing the nightly check and I'd get froze first, and then the stuff would spread through the whole building and get everybody. But are you saying maybe this guy isn't the one who put Mrs. Stone in there?!"

"I got the idea from what you said about Snakes," Lucius said. "Blackburn's the type who might try to play the field too, with each organization unaware of the other. And if he has his finger in two pies, why not three?" He glowered at the man. "Who do you work for?"

In response the gorilla of a man lashed out with his heavy fists, trying to bring them down on Lucius's head. Lucius dove to the side and grabbed one mighty wrist, twisting it as best as he could.

It was a distraction at best, and certainly not painful to the strange beast. Jim attacked from behind, struggling to drag him back before he could do harm to Lucius. Coley, Lafe, and Frank came from every other side, hoping that a group assault would restrain him. Jane struggled in Ray's arms, wanting to get free and help.

"I don't think we can knock him out," Lafe exclaimed as their enemy fought against all of them like a wildcat.

"The best we can hope for is probably shoving him in the safe," Coley growled.

"That much exposure to the gas, in such a small area, would surely kill him!" Sampson cried indignantly.

"We wouldn't leave him in there," Coley retorted. A fist landed in his stomach and he clenched his teeth against the pain. "We'd get the police or the Army to get him out."

"You won't be getting me in," the stranger vowed. Suddenly he roared, jerking his arms up and violently throwing everyone back, even Frank.

Arte watched in horror. "Is everyone alright?!" he cried, hurrying over with Ray right behind him. "Jim! Coley!"

Jim was struggling to get up, shaking the cobwebs from his mind. "This isn't unlike fighting Dimas Buckley," he realized.

"And the only way _that_ ended was with a freak accident," Arte worriedly remembered. "Otherwise, that might have been one fight you would have lost, Jim."

Ray reached out a hand to help Coley, who was stumbling as he stood, still pained from the blows. "Coley, are you hurt bad?" Ray asked in concern.

Jane squirmed away from Ray's grasp, jumping down to Coley. He looked to her and then back to Ray. "Yeah, I'm okay," he said. "How about you, Lafe?"

Lafe, still sprawled on the floor, rubbed his head. "I'm a little dizzy," he admitted, "but it's nothing really serious."

"It could be," Ray said. "You'd better sit this out. I'm calling the police right now." He pulled out his phone.

"The Army might not be a bad idea, either," Frank growled. He had already got back up and lunged at their nemesis again. They were gripping each other's arms, locked in their deadly combat.

Lafe looked over at them. "I think he's stronger than he was before," he said.

"Then he must have taken a larger dose of whatever they've been pumping into him," Arte noted.

"I heard about a drug like that," Lucius frowned. "THRUSH used it some time back."

"You don't suppose this is it, do you?!" Arte exclaimed. Finally getting the better of Frank, the madman sent him flying backwards and turned his attention to Jim, who was trying to drop down on him from a cabinet.

"If it is, or if it's similar in properties, it'll burn him out eventually," Lucius said. "The human body just can't take as much stimulation and energy as the drug gives it."

"How long is 'eventually'?!" Arte stared as Jim was literally batted through the air to crash into a couch. He and the couch both toppled over.

"Too long," Coley declared. He ran at the character again, Jane scampering at his heels. Hanging up the phone, Ray joined them for the next assault.

Deciding that maybe they needed more distractions, Arte took out several small objects and threw them around the floor. They crackled and popped as they hit.

"What are you doing?!" Sampson exclaimed. "If those are firecrackers . . ."

"They're just noisemakers," Arte said.

And the big man _was_ getting distracted by them. They also made noise when they were stepped on, and in such a melee, that was happening quite a lot. Most of the group began to gang up on their enemy at once, taking advantage of the confusion caused by Arte's invention.

Jim glowered at Snakes as he hung back. "You fought in the Posey gang," he said. "Even if you don't want to work with us, this man is connected with the possible destruction of the world. If you want to live, you'd better help us take him down and hope that he has some information about what's going on here."

Snakes glared at the Secret Service agent. But he finally consented, going over with Jim to assist in the battle.

In the end, Lucius seemed to be right about the wonder drug the man had taken. As he fought against so many at once, he began to wear down. When he went after the dazed Lafe in a last-minute effort to take one of the group hostage, Coley shot him in the side and he fell, affected by a bullet at last.

"Now," Jim said coldly as he pulled out a pair of handcuffs, "who are you working for?" He snapped them on and proceeded to tend to the wound.

Welcome police sirens wailed in the distance.

"I work for Blackburn," the man said sullenly.

"Just Blackburn?" Lucius interjected. "Not THRUSH?"

A shrug. "I'm part of THRUSH, but Blackburn's planning to overthrow the leaders. I'm on his team."

Jim extracted a billfold and opened it. "You also work for F.O.W.L., according to this," he said.

"I'm a double agent. Or maybe you could say a triple agent." The man strained against the handcuffs, but they held fast. "It's THRUSH that has the doomsday weapon. Blackburn's been in charge of the project for years. But he stole the components and blamed it on F.O.W.L. agents."

"And now that the components are gone, it could be either F.O.W.L. or the main body of THRUSH that took them," Arte worried. "But which?"

"I don't know." The man slumped back, breathing heavily, but more from the effects of the drug wearing off than from the bullet.

"The machine can't operate without those components," Arte mused. "But I have the terrible feeling that said components are going to be restored in time for the send-off."

"You can pretty much bet on that," said Lucius. "It doesn't really matter who's launching the thing. What matters is that someone is going to launch it."

His communicator suddenly beeped, startling all of them. He drew it out, tense as he pulled up the receiver. "Channel D, open," he announced.

"Well, Pinto, I have to say that of all the places you could have hid yourself, I never expected U.N.C.L.E.'s ranks."

Lucius's visage darkened. "Blackburn," he growled. "You're using Mr. Waverly's communicator, aren't you?"

"Yes, and I have him right here. Say a few words to your assassin, Waverly."

There was a brief pause and what sounded like a scuffle. "Lucius . . ."

Lucius froze. He recognized Mr. Waverly's voice, but he was rarely if ever called by his first name. Mr. Waverly must be at the end of his rope. "What's going on?" he demanded. "You sound terrible."

"Nevermind me. Lucius, you have to stop that infernal machine, no matter what happens to me. Blackburn is going to try to force you to choose to save me, but . . ."

The sound of a sharp crack and a moan made Lucius flinch. Standing nearby, Arte was alarmed and repulsed.

"As you can hear, I really have him," Blackburn said now.

"Maybe you do, but your man doesn't have the jewels," Lucius said matter-of-factly. "Someone already stole them from the safe."

"That was a F.O.W.L. agent," Blackburn replied, "but one who secretly worked for me and foolishly tried to betray me to them. He is no longer a concern; I have the jewels now. Our Armageddon device will go off on schedule."

"You're not calling me just to brag," Lucius said. "You want me to trade myself for Mr. Waverly. Not that there's much point in it, when you're planning to kill him when you blow up the world."

"On the contrary. He's a very valuable man. It would really be more useful if he could be turned to my side."

"That would never happen," Lucius declared. "He'd die first."

"Nevertheless, you're right about the terms. You for him."

Outwardly unmoved, Lucius said, "Where do you want me to go?"

"Where everything glitters and dreams are made and broken and footsteps remain eternal. And don't bother showing up way ahead of schedule. You won't find anything then." The line disconnected.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

Everyone was left standing in stunned silence as Blackburn cut off communication with Lucius.

"Well, that's a fine kettle of fish!" Arte abruptly burst out. "How in the world are we going to decipher a message like that?"

Lucius looked grim and angry as he closed his communicator. "It's somewhere on Hollywood Boulevard," he said flatly. "Possibly at Grauman's Chinese Theatre, but more than likely, that was just a hint to point me in the right direction."

Coley was not pleased. "And that lady with the scarf hasn't been too helpful," he said. "She claims she's pretty low on the totem pole and wasn't told a lot about what's going on. I have her being watched and interrogated right now by two of my guards."

"I want to talk to her myself," Lucius determined.

"I'll take you to her," Coley said. "I have some more things I want to run past her, too. But I'm not expecting much."

The police hurried through the door right then. "We had a report of a wild man in here," one of the officers greeted.

"Right here, officers," Ray said, stepping away so that they could see the big man on the floor. Sampson was bent down in front of him, trying to question him about the events at the Royal Hotel.

"The girl, Carol, disappeared that night, in the company of her police escorts," Sampson was saying. "Did you have anything to do with that?"

The wounded man averted his gaze. "Yeah," he admitted, grudgingly. "I was just following orders. I ran them off the road and kidnapped them all."

"Are they alive?!" Sampson demanded.

"Are you kidding?! I know the penalty for killing cops. Of course they're alive. Or at least . . ." He shifted uncomfortably. "They were when I handed them over to THRUSH."

Both officers were staring at this information. Sampson looked to them with a jerk. "Officer Reed, call this in immediately," he ordered. "Officer Malloy, kindly arrest this man!"

"With pleasure," Malloy declared as he went over.

Within several minutes the man was on his way to the hospital in the company of the officers and Mr. Sampson. Stunned from this latest information, the group at the golf club headed to the security room to talk to the girl.

Lucius was tense as they walked. He was still trying to work out the message Blackburn had given him. There was no way they could have stored a doomsday device at Grauman's without somebody noticing. Nor would they leave it unattended, no matter where they had it. So for the message to tell him not to come too soon if he wanted to find someone there, it seemed it could only mean that they would be bringing Mr. Waverly _and_ the device when it was closer to the 11th hour.

How would they bring the thing? By truck? By air? What was it and how big was it?

How badly was Mr. Waverly hurt? No doubt he had been harmed in order to abduct him in the first place. And more than once during their brief conversation, it had sounded like he was being attacked again.

Lucius had to make stopping the device his first priority. But if he possibly could, he had to save Mr. Waverly too. And how would he do that? Was Mr. Waverly injured so badly that he would not be able to get away by himself even if Lucius managed to give him an opening?

Lucius preferred working alone, but right now, he supposed he was grateful that these others were in on things too. Maybe together they could find some way to do everything.

"If Blackburn is telling the truth," he said suddenly, "and they're not on Hollywood Boulevard yet, we should try to intercept them before they can even get that far."

"We don't know where their hideout is," Jim frowned. "Unless you have some idea."

"They're always picking new hideouts," Lucius returned. "I know where some are, but this is most likely a different one. That's one thing I want to ask this woman—which hideouts she's aware of, especially in this area. I'm going to contact the local branch of U.N.C.L.E., too."

"You also mentioned a couple of agents will be arriving from your home base in New York," Frank spoke up.

"I'm sure of it," Lucius said. "And they'll need to be told that I've been contacted again by Blackburn now."

Ray was looking far away from the conversation. "If you'll excuse me, there's something I need to take care of," he said then, his voice strained.

Coley watched, wordlessly, as Ray removed himself from the group and headed for his office. Jane turned, trotting after him.

"What's that all about?" Arte wondered.

"Nevermind," Coley grunted. "It doesn't have to do with this."

Ray, he was sure, was going to call his parents, probably wondering if this was the last time he would ever talk to them. And Coley saw no reason to make that information public.

xxxx

Lucrece and Pinto were on the couch in the living room, trying to make sense of all the strange events that had transpired in their lives of late. The other board members were wandering through the house, allowing the two their privacy, but at the same time they were restless, wondering about Florence and preparing for a fight.

"I never would have imagined a world like this," Lucrece mused, resting against Pinto's shoulder, "even in the fantasies I conjured in my childhood of the future."

"Who would've?" Pinto said. "You know, most of the people back in our day would probably scoff at a place like this, with cars and automated machines . . ."

"And organized crime," Lucrece finished.

Pinto smirked. "That too." He peered at his fiancée with curiosity. "What made you leave England all those years back, anyway?"

Lucrece sat up straighter, giving him an ironic smile. "Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness," she purred. "My family was fairly well-off, but I felt I could reach even loftier goals in America."

"Were you already interested in crime then?" Pinto wondered. "I know you said your family owned a business and that's how you picked up your business sense."

Lucrece considered the query. "I'd held a certain fascination for the criminal lifestyle even in England," she admitted, "and I continued to study it in America and all the other countries I visited. I saw the same tired patterns play out everywhere—lone criminals being captured, jailed, or executed—and I began to realize that if all crime was consolidated, as businesses were, the criminals could assist and protect each other."

She regarded him in equal curiosity. "What about you?" she wondered. "What was your life as Peter Bowen?"

Pinto leaned back, gazing into the distance as he pondered. "Peter Bowen grew up on a ranch and learned how to work it and take care of cattle and horses," he said. "Most people figured he had a few screws loose. He was quiet, but if someone got to him, he'd get 'em." He grinned. "Creative-like, too."

"Hmm. Not a great deal different than what Pinto is like," Lucrece mused.

"That's right."

"And I imagine you were fired from a great many jobs."

"I was at that." Pinto smirked in a mock sorrowful way. "They just never understood me." Sobering, he added, "No one did . . . until you came along."

"Hmm. Then I'm glad I did." Lucrece relaxed against him once more. "Are there other living Bowens?"

"There's some," Pinto said. "But the rest of 'em ain't crooked."

"Oh? And I suppose they've blackballed you, then."

"I'm not their favorite relation." Pinto watched her with curiosity. "What about you? Is there a whole flock of Poseys out there?"

"A few," said Lucrece. "I'm still in line to take over the family business, if the time comes."

Pinto looked surprised. "Your family would let a woman run the business? Most people in our time aren't that forward-thinking."

"Well." Lucrece smirked. "If no one is left, they won't have much choice but to call on me. They know I'm aware enough of the business and its operations to get the job done."

"You'd have a hard time running it in two different times," Pinto remarked. "Not to mention with that pesky warrant hanging over your head."

"Hmm." Lucrece looked thoughtful. "I wonder if Mr. West and Mr. Gordon could be persuaded to arrange for that warrant to be dropped, considering that now they're aware that our family line is rather important to the present-day situation."

"Maybe," Pinto agreed. "Although they'd probably want some kind of promise from us in return. Such as that we wouldn't keep trying to get that consolidated crime business going."

"I suppose." Lucrece was silent for a moment. "You know, if I _did_ decide to run the company, we'd have to live where it is, in England—where there isn't a warrant out on me. Unless I opened an American branch."

Pinto thought about that. "I guess I wouldn't mind England so much," he said. "Just as long as it and the company wouldn't smother me."

Lucrece smiled. "I'd see that they wouldn't."

"Then I'd be game," Pinto declared. "I've never been to England. What's it like?"

A shrug. "In London, where we'd be living, it's very fog-ridden. It's very rare to see the sun for long. But there's also countryside and farms in England—the sorts of things you're used to."

"That sounds more like it." Pinto started to draw her close. "Do you want to go back there?"

Lucrece settled into his arms, running a hand over his shoulder. "I prefer it here most of all. But if we could live in peace in England, I wouldn't mind going back."

"Speaking of going places . . ." Pinto kissed her. "Maybe we should be getting on to the golf club and see what Lucius is up to."

Lucrece returned the kiss. "We probably should. I don't like the thought of this mess he's in. Or the fact that Florence wants him."

"It's still weird to think of him as our descendent," Pinto mused.

"Solely because he's working for the other side?" Lucrece returned.

"Nah. Mainly 'cause we're in the same time with him," said Pinto.

"It is odd. I wonder if the others will decide to look up their possible descendents as well." Lucrece started to ease herself away and off the couch.

Pinto followed suit. "I can't rightly imagine Cyril having any descendents," he said. "He's too interested in burning things to think about girls."

"Perhaps he finds a fellow pyromaniac," Lucrece said flatly.

Pinto snickered. "Oh boy, would that be an interesting problem. She might be crazier than he is."

"Then we would have to earnestly hope that they wouldn't burn down the house some night," said Lucrece as she headed for the door.

xxxx

Lucius was tense and displeased. The lady with the scarf was still being most uncooperative, barely answering any of their questions. According to Coley, nothing she had said was new information; she had told it all to him and Ray.

Maybe she was telling the truth and she really didn't have much involvement in the overall scheme. But something wasn't adding up. And he could tell from Jim's concentrated expression that he felt much the same.

Lucius walked over to the Secret Service agent. "What are you thinking?" he asked low.

Jim glanced to him. "I'm thinking that our Little Miss Scarf Girl knows more than she's telling, one way or another." He paused. "And something else about her has been nagging at me for a while. She seems . . . familiar, somehow."

"It's the eyes," Arte said, popping up behind them. "I could never forget the eyes on a pretty face. But I just can't place where I've seen these pretty eyes before."

"She could be in disguise then," Lucius mused.

Jim half-turned to look back at her. "She keeps glancing at Snakes every now and then," he said. "You can see he's nervous about it. At the same time, he has no idea why she's doing it."

"I wonder," Arte mused. "I wonder if _I _do." He took a handkerchief out of his pocket. While Jim and Lucius and the others watched in amazement, Arte marched over to the woman and held up the cloth. "Pardon me, Madam." He smashed the handkerchief against her face, amid startled and angry protests, and began to rub.

"What are you doing, buster?!" she snarled, clawing at him with all nails. "Cut it out!"

Arte didn't. After a moment he stepped back, soiled cloth in hand. "May I present . . . one slightly frazzled Florence."

Snakes gasped in horror. Indeed, without the makeup, it was Florence glaring back at them.

"What?" Coley came forward, glaring suspiciously at the entire situation. "Florence was shooting at Lucius at the same time Ray and I were talking to this girl. She couldn't be in two places at once!"

"Ah, but what if there was a switch?" Arte said. "Imagine this. The real lady with the scarf is working for Florence. Florence pays her to come here, cause a commotion, and get caught. Florence, meanwhile, goes to get Lucius. Upon that failure, she comes back to the club, manages to get into the room, and changes places with the other girl."

"But that would mean that both of my security guards with her are crooked," Coley growled.

"Not necessarily." Jim stepped forward now. "They could have been drugged and hypnotized, like Blackburn's man tried to do to us."

The security guards looked baffled. "Honestly, Sir, we don't know if that's the case," said one. "We don't remember it at all."

"But we're not working for her!" the second asserted. "I swear it!"

Coley sighed. "I want to believe you," he said, pushing up his hat. "I don't think either of you are crooks. But I know how tricky she is."

Lucius looked to Florence. "Well?" he said with a glare. "Are Mr. West and Mr. Gordon right?"

Florence shrugged. "Why would I come back and switch places with her?" she said. "If she was caught, there's no reason why I would want to come back and take the fall for her instead."

"You wouldn't be planning to take the fall," said Jim. "The only reason you'd come back here would be if you were hoping to gain something by it. The jewels from the safe, perhaps."

"Yes, of course," Arte agreed. "Why, there's been all manner of cross and triple-cross going on here, hasn't there? You're _supposed_ to be working for Blackburn, judging from what you said to Lucius."

"I could have come to get the jewels for F.O.W.L.," Florence sneered.

"Except that F.O.W.L. sent another agent to get them, one who was supposed to be working for Blackburn." Lucius glowered at his new enemy. "Only he betrayed Blackburn and is probably dead."

"So the only thing that makes sense is that you came to get the jewels for yourself," said Jim. "Not knowing that someone else had already got to them."

"I knew," Florence smirked. "But they won't do Blackburn any good."

"Oh?" Arte raised an eyebrow. "And why not, if I may ask?"

"He's missing the key piece. My girl took it from the safe late that first night and replaced it with a piece of paste."

"And that's what you came back to find," Arte realized. "The real one."

Coley's eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't be so stupid as to tell us about something that juicy unless you knew it was already out of our reach," he proclaimed.

"You're right, of course," Florence smiled.

"But what are you planning to do with it?" Frank frowned. "If you've broken ties with Blackburn, you're certainly not about to give it to him."

"Sell it to him, perhaps?" Arte suggested.

"No, that's more my sister's speed," Florence said boredly. "I'll let F.O.W.L. overpower Blackburn."

"And then you'll set off the device yourself, ensuring the demise of all of your enemies and your own leadership of the world," Arte deduced. "Florence, you are a devious, cruel woman."

"Not to mention megalomaniacal," Jim intoned.

"I'll get away with it," Florence declared. "You don't know where the component is. And I'm not going to tell you."

"Of course she won't," Coley said in annoyance and disgust. "We'll have to look for it ourselves. And we'll tear this place apart until it turns up."

"Are you going to tell Mr. Norman about our new problem?" Arte queried.

"Yeah." Coley headed for the door. "And I'll start looking on the way."

Lafe moved to follow him. "I'll come with you, Coley," he offered.

Coley glanced back, his eyes unreadable. But at last he nodded in consent. "Okay, Lafe. Come on."

Perking up, Lafe went with him out the door and into the hall.

Arte sighed. "And what are we going to with dear Flo in the meantime, I wonder?" He looked to the F.O.W.L. agent, who was studying the room and smirking coyly at the guards. Nervous, and angry at themselves for possibly becoming hypnotized, the guards shifted their weight and exchanged looks.

"Leave her in here with the door locked," Lucius said flatly. "And two more guards on the outside."

"You can't leave me in here with her!" Snakes cried in alarm. "She'll kill me!"

Arte looked to him. "You _do_ kind of deserve it, Snakes," he said. "You've been such a naughty boy."

"But we can't condone murder nevertheless," Jim interjected. "Alright, Snakes, you'll come with us."

Florence pouted. "Oh, and I was looking forward to getting to know him again, too."

"You already know each other far too well for comfort, I'm afraid," Arte said. "And we'll have to tie you up and gag you so you can't do any more of that hypnotizing business."

"Go ahead," Florence sneered. "It won't solve your real problems."

Jim took a handkerchief out of his pocket, as well as his handcuffs. "We'll see about that."

Soon Florence was restrained and Jim and Arte were departing the room with Snakes, each agent holding onto an arm. Lucius and Frank trailed after them. Arte looked over his shoulder at the security room as the door closed.

"I don't know, Jim," he said in concern. "Florence took that whole tying up thing a little too well, don't you think?"

"I do think," Jim frowned. "She knows we're not going to find that component." He paused. "But _why_ does she know it? Has it left the golf club entirely? Or . . ." His expression turned thoughtful. "Is it just in a place at the golf club where she's convinced we'll never look?"

"And where, might I ask, would that be?" Arte wondered.

Undaunted, Jim said, "That's what we'll have to find out."

xxxx

Ray's office door was still shut when Coley and Lafe approached. Hesitating for a moment, Coley finally looked back to his old friend. "Hey, Lafe, would you mind looking for the thing yourself for a few minutes?" He nodded to the door. "I need to talk to Ray in private."

Lafe's eyes flickered. "I thought you were just going to tell him about that crazy lady and the jewel thing we have to find," he protested.

"Yeah, I have to do that," Coley confirmed, "but I need to talk to Ray about what he went in there to do, too."

Lafe frowned. "It seems like you have a lot of secrets with him," he said.

Coley gave a weary sigh. "It's not like I'm trying to keep anything from you, Lafe," he replied. "It's just that this is something private. I don't want to tell anybody about it without Ray's permission. You can understand that, can't you?"

Lafe sighed too. "Yeah, I guess so. It just seems like . . ." He paused, searching for the right words. "It seems like you're a lot closer to him than you ever were to me. And we knew each other a lot longer."

Coley looked somewhat regretful. "I kept my guard up around you a lot, Lafe. I'll admit that. But it was because I was the leader. I figured I had to be untouchable. If we'd met under the same circumstances I met Ray, we'd probably be closer than we are. A lot of it's my fault. I'm sorry."

Lafe stared at him in stunned surprise. "Coley, I . . . I never expected that from you."

Coley half-smirked. "An apology?"

"Yeah. That, and . . . well, being so open with me." Lafe rubbed the back of his neck. "I wish . . . well . . . I wish we really could be closer."

Coley sobered. "If you stay, Lafe, maybe we could be."

"I'm still thinking about it," Lafe said. "Living honest still sounds so crazy to me. But when it's worked for you, Coley, maybe . . ." He trailed off. "I'd better get back to looking for that thing."

"Okay." Coley lightly bounced his hand off of Lafe's upper arm. "Just let me know what you come up with."

"I will, Coley," Lafe promised.

Coley sighed to himself, watching Lafe wander up the corridor before knocking on Ray's door.

"Come in."

Ray's mumbled response certainly made it sound as though something had gone wrong. Frowning more, Coley turned the knob and stepped inside.

Ray was half-sitting, half-leaning on the edge of his desk, watching Jane weave around his legs. At last he smiled, shaking his head.

"This cat," he proclaimed. "It's hard to be unhappy with her around."

"I take it things didn't go well," Coley said.

"I'm not sure." Ray looked up at him. "They wanted me to come home for Christmas. That's certainly better than anything else they've said lately. But I didn't know how to tell them that the world might get blown up if we can't locate that blasted device."

"Maybe we're safe," Coley answered. "Or at least, we have a chance."

Ray blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Blackburn's missing a piece of the puzzle. Flo double-crossed him and took it for herself, but I don't think she has it yet, either." Coley sat down in a chair facing Ray. "If we find it first, we'll be holding the cards."

Ray's eyes flickered and widened. "That's wonderful," he said. "But Florence probably knows where it is."

"Yeah, but she can't get to it at the moment," Coley smirked. "So unless she's going to have someone else get it for her, which she can't arrange right now, we've got some time."

Ray pushed himself off the desk. "Then let's start looking!" he declared. "It could even be in here, couldn't it?"

Coley stood. "I guess, if she or her tool managed to hide it while your office was free."

"It would be an unlikely place, somewhere that they'd think we wouldn't consider." Ray pawed through the assorted things on his desk.

Jane meowed, wanting to help too. She went to the nearest bookcase and started to climb, investigating each golfing trophy. Coley watched her in impressed amusement.

A thorough search of the office turned up nothing even vaguely jewel-shaped. Undaunted, Ray headed into the hall, Coley and Jane right with him. Lafe was nowhere in sight by now, but Jim, Arte, and Snakes were approaching from another direction.

"No luck, eh?" Coley frowned.

"None." Arte sighed, running a hand through his hair. "There must be something we're missing, some obvious place we've overlooked!"

"How about us?" Jim said suddenly.

Arte started. "What?"

"We'd never check ourselves for the jewel," Jim said. "All she'd have to do to get it back would be to find a way to get close enough to subtlety take it from whomever she'd passed it on to. And that shouldn't be a problem for her, especially if she'd managed to pass it to one of us in the first place."

Arte shook his head. "It sounds insane, but I'm willing to try anything! Everyone, check your pockets and anywhere else it could have been stashed!"

The group complied, albeit not really expecting to find anything. But it was Snakes who drew out a small, yellowish diamond. He turned ghostly white. "I . . . I've got it," he rasped. "Or something that _could_ be it. . . ."

Everyone stiffened and turned to look. Coley grabbed the gem, turning it over in his hands and holding it up to the light.

"Yeah, it _could_ be it," he said. "Or maybe it's something to throw us off the track."

"It _would_ be like Flo, to plant a few red herrings around," Arte sighed.

Coley closed one eye, looking back to Snakes. "Or maybe like you," he said.

Snakes shakily held up his hands in protest. "No!" he cried. "I swear it. I'm not working with Flo! That bridge is burned!"

Coley did not look convinced. But then he grunted, tossing the stone into the air and catching it. "I guess Florence might be trying to deliberately make you look bad," he said.

"Oh, she'd do that," Snakes exclaimed. "You saw how she kept looking at me in there. She'd do it!"

Jim stepped forward. "Assuming she _was_ trying to do that, or even if she wasn't, we're still left with a concerning problem. Somehow we have to find out whether this is a diamond, paste, or the missing component."

Arte took it from Coley. "I _might_ be able to figure out something," he said slowly. "I studied those jewels during the phony alien invasion, after all."

Coley stared at him. "The what?!"

"Oh . . . it's a long story." Arte turned to head up the hall. "Let's go back to our new room and I'll give it a try. We need to find where Lucius and Mr. Cannon disappeared to, as well."

"I'll call," Ray offered.

Jim gave him Lucius's phone number and Ray quickly dialed. After a moment there was a click. "Hello?" Lucius sounded tense.

"Hello, Mr. Bowen," Ray returned. "Where are you and Mr. Cannon? We may have found the missing component."

"We might have too," Lucius said in frustration. "We're in one of the storerooms. And a whole bunch of diamonds just fell out of a box of golf balls!"


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

"Paste."

Arte dropped the final diamond into the pile on Ray's desk in exasperated disgust. Around him, the others came to life, worried and upset over the information.

"They're really all paste?" Frank frowned. "With nothing extra inside?"

Arte shook his head. "I certainly don't see anything inside any of them," he said. "I suppose we could crush them all and find out for certain."

Coley picked one up, squinted at it, and tossed it back with the others. "I don't see how that would do any good," he grunted. "If they're hiding anything in any one of these things, it'd almost have to be invisible."

Lucius stiffened. "That isn't so crazy," he said. "Not when THRUSH is behind the doomsday device in the first place. Look, don't do anything more with any of them. I'm going to ship them all off to the local branch of U.N.C.L.E. for testing. If there's anything inside them other than paste, U.N.C.L.E.'s machines will find it."

Arte stood up. "I'm more than willing to turn this particular mess over to U.N.C.L.E.," he said. "But, say, Lucius, do you think I might be allowed to watch the tests?" His eyes glimmered with hopefulness.

Jim shook his head in amusement. "Arte, we're faced with the possible destruction of the world and you're still hoping to learn more about the latest technology."

Arte shrugged. "Well," he protested with a swift glance at Frank, who still didn't know the full truth about them, "it might be my only chance left!"

Lucius started to take out his communicator pen. "I don't know if I could get clearance for you," he said. "There isn't time to be messing with something like that when the future of the world is at stake."

"I know, I know." Arte sighed as he waved his hands in dismissal. "Of course you're right. If I can't get in, I'll just have to be content with my lot."

Jim smiled, laying a hand on Arte's shoulder. "Take heart, Arte," he said. "Maybe you'll still have another chance at it."

"Another thing we should be thinking about is, what happened to the real component if it truly isn't among these?" Frank spoke up.

Ray cringed. "I'm definitely thinking about it," he declared. "And I don't like what I'm coming up with. We've gone over everything! If we don't have the missing piece, then maybe a confederate of Flo's carted it off."

Coley frowned, looking towards the hall. "Or maybe those security guards she supposedly hypnotized should've been searched too," he said flatly. "Them and the rest of the security room. That's the one place nobody thought to look."

"Maybe you didn't, but I did," Lucius returned, glancing up from his communicator. "They let Mr. Cannon and me back in when we went there. There wasn't anything there."

"And Flo was still chained up?" Coley demanded.

"She was. And still acting smug about the whole thing. Excuse me."

Lucius turned away as someone finally answered his call. Quickly he relayed his message about the fake diamonds and requested that the laboratory and its technicians be ready to receive them. When he was answered in the affirmative, he broke off communications.

"We're to bring the diamonds right down," he announced. "Mr. Gordon, they'll let you watch them work from outside the room, if I vouch for you."

Arte's eyes lit up. "Marvelous!" he cried. "Well, who all is going?"

"Who all is going where?"

Everyone jumped a mile at the new, yet familiar, voice. Lucrece was standing in the open doorway, Pinto and the rest of the gang right behind her. Horrified, Snakes tried to slink out of sight to the side of Ray's shelves.

Arte suddenly wondered how much or how little of the question he should answer. "Why, Miss Posey," he greeted. "What are you doing here at this time of night?"

"We came to check on Lucius," Lucrece said flatly, stepping into the room. "We weren't sure if Florence might try to attack him here."

"Florence is locked up," Lucius said. "At least for right now." He regarded his ancestor with touched concern. "But if there is trouble, you shouldn't get right in the thick of it. I wouldn't want you or Pinto or any of the others to be hurt in any case, but if it happened _here,_ and the injury was fatal . . ." He trailed off, hoping that she would get his meaning without him having to spell it out in front of Frank Cannon.

Lucrece did. "We know," she said simply. "We'll be careful." They certainly had no intention of disrupting the timeline by ending up killed now. She and Pinto were determined to be married. And who knew what would happen to Lucius if they were unable to fulfill that?

Frank looked back and forth between them. "I still don't understand what your connection is with these people," he said. "Although you look enough like this man to be his brother." He indicated Pinto, who smirked in response.

Lucius shrugged. "It's just one of those things," he said.

He turned back to Lucrece. "And we're going to the local U.N.C.L.E. headquarters to have these fake jewels tested." He pointed to the table. "We need to find out if they're all harmless." Sobering, he added, "You all have a right to know—there's a doomsday device set to go off in around twenty-four hours. We might have the missing component, and if we do, they can't do anything with it. But if we don't . . ."

"Then this world is blowin' to Kingdom Come," Pinto mused. He and Lucrece exchanged a look.

Jim and Arte did likewise. Lucius would of course want the gang to escape through the portal if there was no way to stop Armageddon. They would have to, to keep the timeline in check. And if Jim, Arte, and the others were going to go as well, then Frank was going to have to learn everything.

But they could hold off for a little while longer, at least, and see what would come of the trip to U.N.C.L.E.

Lucrece briefly glanced in the direction of Ray's shelves. "By the way, Snakes, we can all see you perfectly well." Her hand strayed near her purse. "I'm sorry to see that you're still alive. After what you did to Pinto, I really should put you out of your misery."

The former gang member quaked, his eyes wide and filled with fear. Concerned, Arte quickly stepped in front of Snakes.

"While Snakes has certainly committed some deplorable acts, so have the rest of you, Miss Posey," Arte said smoothly. "And I'm afraid we just can't allow a murder to take place in here. You understand, I'm sure."

Lucrece gave a bored shrug. "I wouldn't do it anyway, in the presence of so many witnesses."

"You shouldn't be doing it at all, witnesses or not," Frank frowned. "This only furthers my feelings that something is very wrong here. And I don't appreciate being left out of it if we're all going to be working together." He eyed Lucrece with suspicion.

"Later," Lucius grunted, having scooped up all the paste diamonds during the confrontation. "There's no time now." He headed into the hall before anyone had a chance to reply.

"Unfortunately, he's right," said Jim. "We do owe you an explanation, Mr. Cannon, but it can't come now."

Frank was not pleased, but he would not push the issue, for the moment. "As long as it comes," he grunted.

"You know, Miss Posey," Arte mused as they followed Lucius into the corridor, "you seem awfully calm about the news that we might all be about to die."

Lucrece eyed him calmly. "Perhaps," she said. "Perhaps not."

She looked to Pinto as they headed out. "What do you think?" she asked quietly.

Pinto shrugged. "Well, Lucius _does_ have that picture," he mused. "Supposing all of these things happen before it's taken, it seems to me that everything must all get fixed up."

Lucrece nodded. "That is what I would assume," she agreed. "However, we should be cautious anyway. If time is fluid and not fixed, perhaps something will happen that will change the course of events and cause us not to be married and the picture not taken."

Pinto looked thoughtful. "We'd better be prepared for that," he acknowledged. "But I'll be fighting to make sure it does happen."

Lucrece smiled. "As will I."

"What are you two talking about back there?" Frank wondered.

"The possible destruction of the world," Lucrece answered flatly.

xxxx

Coley was restless. While the U.N.C.L.E. scientists studied the fake jewels, he paced the floor and crossed his arms. Ray, although standing still, looked nervous enough to join him.

"I didn't expect they'd really let us all in," Coley grunted at last. Most of them were at clearance level 46, which seemed to include some of the secretaries as well as some of those who had positive involvement with at least one U.N.C.L.E. case yet were not part of U.N.C.L.E. But it surprised Coley nevertheless. They had all been allowed to wait in a large room on one side of the lab, looking into it via a large window that ran all along the upper half of the conjoining wall.

"Well, at least we're in, I guess." Ray shifted his weight, looking towards the window. Everyone was spread throughout the room, some peering into the lab, some leaning against the wall, and some separated into smaller groups to talk.

"And waiting to find out if the world is still set to explode in a day." Coley frowned. "If it is, and if we don't have any chance to make it to the portal in time, we're all finished."

Ray looked to him. "With that as a possibility, do you wish you'd never come to this time?" he asked quietly.

Coley stiffened. "No," he said flatly. "I don't wish that at all. If I've got to die somewhere while I'm still young, I'd rather it happens now and not in the past, when I was still running for my life."

Ray managed a smile. "It's only been a few weeks," he noted.

"And they've been better weeks than I've had in years of my life." Coley spoke firmly and without leaving any room for doubt.

"I'm glad."

Coley hesitated. ". . . Do you remember when I told you about the time I tried to get drunk?"

Ray looked to him in surprise. "Yes," he asserted. "Of course."

"And I said I'd tell you why sometime." Coley pushed up his hat. "I didn't think I'd be deciding it so soon, but since we really might die in a day, I guess now's as good a time as any."

He stared into the distance. "There was a town we looted earlier that week. I tried to see to it that the gang was careful and that nobody got shot, the usual. There were some kids around watching us some of the time, but they didn't act like they knew what we were doing. So we got in and out without any problems.

"But a few days later we ended up having to ride back through the place." He gripped his arms. "Everybody was laying dead."

Ray stared at him in shock. "How?!"

"Somebody else came through after we left. They didn't find everything they wanted and they burned the place to the ground. There wasn't much there to begin with, and they brought desert weeds and placed them around the town edges to make sure everything burned up."

Ray swallowed hard, sickened. "The children were dead too?"

"Yeah. I nearly tripped over one of them." Coley was still not facing Ray. "The worst part was, it probably wouldn't have happened if we hadn't looted the town first. If there'd still been something for the other gang when they came, maybe they wouldn't have torched the place. Oh, I tried to tell myself that they were mean enough that they probably would've done it anyway, but I was still so upset that I started drinking that night."

Ray approached his friend, horrified and haunted by the tale. "I had no idea it would be anything like that," he gasped. "I knew it must be appalling and atrocious, but . . ." He shook his head. "Coley, I'm so sorry."

"There's no need to be sorry for me. Be sorry for the people in that crummy town." Coley turned back. "I'm still upset it happened."

Ray fell silent, still trying to process what he had been told. ". . . How did Lafe feel about it?" he finally asked.

"Lafe . . . well, all of us were kind of shook up about it, on different levels. That was before Frank joined us." Coley scowled. "He probably would've laughed about it and said we should've done it ourselves."

Chills went up Ray's spine. "I just can't imagine anyone being that heartless," he declared.

Coley shrugged. "I'm not even sure Pinto would go that far," he said. "He likes to pick off people to torture, but burning down a whole town with people in it . . ." He shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe he'd do it, at least on Posey's orders."

"But would _she_ want it done?" Ray shuddered. "What purpose would it serve?"

"Probably none." Coley sighed. "Unless the whole town was full of their enemies, I can't really think she'd order it destroyed."

Ray walked slightly away, still haunted. "I can understand how you'd want to get drunk," he said quietly. "If it had been me, I'm not sure I would have been strong enough to stop myself before it happened."

"You're not much of a drinker," Coley noted.

"In a horror like that, I think I might have been," Ray said. "I would have wanted to forget almost more than anything."

"With the only thing you would've wanted more to be for it not to have happened in the first place."

"Yes," said Ray.

Coley nodded. "Yeah. Same here."

Ray swallowed hard. "The police didn't think _you_ burned down the town, did they?"

Coley paused. "I don't know," he said honestly. "Maybe they did. Maybe it's one of the reasons West and Gordon believed I was going to kill off all those people with Kirby's bug."

"That would be horrible," Ray proclaimed, stunned.

"It'd make sense, though."

Coley stopped talking and looked up as the door opened and Lucius stepped out, frustrated and bewildered. In the lab, Arte had been allowed in and was picking up several of the autopsied paste jewels for examination.

"They weren't all duds," Ray said in disbelief. Jim, Frank, and others came over to hear the news as well.

"The lab can't find anything else in them, anyway," Lucius growled. "They cut every one of them open to check."

"I knew Florence was smirking too much," Coley said darkly. "So now what?"

"Those other agents from the New York office are here now," Lucius said. "I told them to go out to the golf club first thing. They're probably combing it themselves for anything we could've missed. And maybe one of them's interrogating Florence. But if he is, it's a lost cause. She'll never reveal anything."

Arte, who was finally trudging out after Lucius, sighed and nodded. "Unfortunately, that's true. So I propose that we head down to this Hollywood Boulevard and try to determine where they're going to bring the doomsday device. Maybe we'll have to stake out the entire street all night and all day. After all, whoever has this mysterious missing component still can't do anything with it unless they know where the device will be, too."

"That's a good point," Ray realized.

Coley nodded, looking thoughtful. "Maybe we still have a chance," he mused.

"There's also the chance that we've been on a wild goose chase," Jim said. "Maybe the missing component isn't in a jewel at all."

"I wouldn't put anything past Florence," Arte declared. "But if it's not in a jewel, then what?! It could be anywhere, any_thing!_"

"And that's exactly the sort of thing that would give her a kick," Coley grunted.

"Coming to think about it . . ." Arte cringed. "Jim, was Florence wearing any jewelry herself?"

Jim stiffened. "She was," he remembered.

Lucius swore under his breath. "I checked her for those fake diamonds in her pockets and her purse. I didn't think about examining her earrings and whatever else she had on."

"Then let's get back there right now," Frank said grimly. "If she's wearing the component, we might be able to keep it from walking out of our hands."

"Oh, I hope you're right," Arte moaned.

xxxx

The golf club was unusually quiet when everyone arrived and parked. As far as they could tell, no guests were still up and the security guards were not making their rounds.

"What on Earth . . ." Ray stared at the silent buildings. "What's happened here?!"

"That's what I'd like to know," Coley growled. "Somebody should be right here." He pointed at the edge of the grass.

Lucius drew his gun and headed for the main door. "Anyone who has a weapon should be ready to use it," he instructed.

"Well, that's certainly a bundle of cheer," Arte muttered.

Guns, knives, lassos, and matches were produced as the group trailed after Lucius. When he slowly opened the door and stepped into the lobby, two men in gas masks appeared from the hallway as if on cue.

Lucius stiffened. "Who are you working for?" he demanded.

"Blackburn," replied the one. "And don't bother rushing to check on that double-crosser Florence. Blackburn has her now."

Lucius cocked the hammer. "And the two agents who were coming here?"

"They got the same thing you're going to get now," said the second. "So did the security guards. This is going to be quite the collection, isn't it."

"If you think you're going to make us Blackburn's mind-controlled slaves . . ." Coley snarled.

"This isn't the same kind of gas," was the reply. "This is just an ordinary sleeping gas. But it will keep you out of the way until morning, which is what Blackburn ordered."

Lucius and Coley both fired. Sergei threw a knife. But even as one man grunted in pain from the blade and the other was unaffected by the bullets, they unleashed the gas.

Arte coughed and gasped. "If we could just get to the door . . . !" But his eyes were already watering and the smoke was so thick that the door was completely obscured.

Jim held a handkerchief over his mouth and nose, turning to charge back the way they had come. Instead he crashed into Cyril and they collapsed to the floor.

They didn't get up. The fast-acting gas was already sweeping them, as well as everyone else, under.

xxxx

Coley awoke to repeated rubbing, nudging, and worried meowing. Slowly cracking his eyes open, he found Jane bumping up against his cheek. Finally getting a result, she meowed happily and nuzzled him before hurrying to rouse Ray as well.

The headache was immediately present. Pained, Coley brought a hand to his forehead as he pulled himself into a sitting position. All around him, the others were beginning to revive.

"Pinto?"

Coley glanced across the room to where Lucrece was laying a hand on Pinto's shoulder. The sadist stirred after a moment, slowly turning onto his back.

"Wow," he mumbled. "That was some blast." He reached up, brushing his hand against her cheek. "You okay?"

She nodded. "I'm fine."

"Ohh . . ." Arte groaned, easing himself up with the same headache. "What time is it?"

"Morning," Coley said matter-of-factly.

"Eight o'clock in the morning, to be exact," said a new voice.

The conscious ones looked up, dazedly studying the newcomer. He drew out an identification card, and although he seemed poised and well-groomed, a bit of sheepish embarrassment flickered through his eyes. "Napoleon Solo, of the U.N.C.L.E."

"Oh." Coley peered at the card long enough to see that it was the same sort of style as the one Lucius carried. "You're one of the agents who got gassed last night."

"Yes," Napoleon said, still with that awkward tone to his voice. "I'm terribly sorry about that."

Ray, who was getting rubbed against and paws laid on his arm, started to rouse up. "I'm sorry it happened to us, too," he mumbled. "Hello, Jane."

Jane purred.

"None of Blackburn's men are anywhere on the premises," a second voice said, as a blond man approached Napoleon. "Of course, that was to be expected."

"But it's certainly problematic, in any case," Napoleon mused. "Oh, Lucius, there you are." He looked to the sprawled group as Lucius started to rise up on his hands and knees. "There's so many here who resemble you, it's starting to feel like we're encountering the Aksoy brothers all over again."

Lucius grunted. "One of them's my great-great-grandfather," he muttered.

Instead of immediately dismissing that information, or blaming it on the gas, Napoleon seemed to take it in stride. "Well, that would explain it, I suppose."

Jim looked up at him in disbelief. "You believe that?"

"Well . . ." Napoleon hesitated.

His companion did not. "Local agents have investigated the portal on Mt. San Antonio," the blond said. "It didn't take long for us to realize what must be happening in town. But U.N.C.L.E.'s full attention was soon needed on other, more pressing matters." As an afterthought, he took out his own identification. "Incidentally, I am Illya Kuryakin, also of U.N.C.L.E."

"How do you do," Jim intoned.

"Portal?" Frank Cannon was sitting up now, frowning at the entire bizarre exchange. "What _is_ happening in town, if I may ask?"

Arte sighed. "We knew we'd need to tell you soon, Mr. Cannon," he said. "We were just hoping for a better time and place, even though I suppose there really _is_ no fully ideal time or place, not on a schedule like ours.

"The fact is, Mr. West and I—and some of the others here—are not from _this_ time and place. We came here through the portal on the mountain, from 1874."

Frank stared at him with an unreadable frown. "Are you trying to tell me that you've proven the existence of time-travel?"

"That's right," Arte nodded. "I know it sounds unbelievable, but it's true, every last bit of it. And if we can't stop the world from being destroyed, we figure there's no choice but to take as many as we can back through the portal with us. It's not a perfect solution, but it might be the only way to save lives."

"We can prove the existence of the portal to you," said Illya, "but not right now. We must see first if we can do anything to prevent this impending tragedy."

Frank looked from Arte to Illya, still deeply frowning. "You're right, Mr. Kuryakin. That is the most important thing. But even if the present world can be salvaged, I'm going to want to see this portal when everything is over."

"And we'll be most happy to escort you," Arte said, finally starting to get to his feet. "But meanwhile, we must take our journey to Hollywood Boulevard in search of that doomsday device." His stomach protested, loudly, and he placed a hand over it. "After breakfast, of course."

Jim looked across the room at the people who were still waking up and stumbling off the floor. "Is everyone here?"

"All present and accounted for," Lucrece replied. "Even Snakes." She gave her former board member a dangerously sweet smile. He stiffened, knowing all too well what it meant. She still wanted her revenge on him. And sooner or later, she planned to take it.

Arte hurried to interfere before any more fireworks could erupt. "Well, that's very thoughtful of you, Snakes, not to try to run away," he said in a friendly tone.

"It's not as though I was given much choice," Snakes retorted. "All of you are blocking the door."

"We are at that," said Arte, still smiling. "Anyway, come along to the dining room, everyone! Breakfast should be ready and waiting. And if it's not, I'll whip up something."

Frank looked at him with interest as the group started in the direction of the dining room. "Are you a chef, Mr. Gordon?"

"The best!" Arte said with pride. "And yourself?"

"Oh, I enjoy a little gourmet cooking now and then," said Frank.

They spent the rest of the walk to the dining room discussing food. Amused, Jim trailed behind and half-listened. Ray, Coley, and Lucius were much less amused.

"If all of us were gassed last night, I wonder what happened to the guests," Ray worried.

"Most of them were probably in their cabins or rooms," Jim told him. "Although it _is_ strange that none of them came down and found us until Jane did."

"I should really go check on all of them," Ray said.

"Let's wait and see how full the dining room is," Coley responded. "That could save a lot of time and checking."

"You're right," Ray acknowledged.

Lucius was deeply scowling. "I was supposed to spy on that meeting this morning," he said. "I imagine that at least one reason for the gassing was to make sure I didn't get there after all. I'm sure they've already had it."

"I can check with security and find out if anything's happened," Coley said. "If they're awake yet. And I can check the tapes if they're not."

"They probably didn't even have the meeting now that their plans are moving so fast," Lucius said in annoyance. "If they were ever going to have it at all. Maybe it was a red herring, something to distract us from searching for the doomsday device. But thank you, Mr. Rodman. I'd appreciate you checking on that.

"I'll probably go out to the Boulevard ahead of the rest of you," he continued. "It's safe to say that if Florence had the missing component anywhere on her person, Blackburn has it now. And if she wasn't wearing it, she's probably told him how and where to get it."

"He also said not to bother going out too soon," Snakes remarked.

"And he'll probably be expecting that I'll do it anyway," Lucius frowned. "I can just imagine him figuring I'd grab an apple and run out the door as soon as the gas wore off. Maybe I _will_ wait until after breakfast, at least. He'll have to sweat it out and maybe I can take him somewhat by surprise."

Jim nodded. "The element of surprise has helped Arte and I a lot of times against overwhelming odds."

"Same here," said Napoleon. "But I know you're already familiar with our exploits."

"Too well," Lucius answered.

The dining room was half-full, consisting of people who didn't seem aware that anything was wrong. Ray quickly counted up the patrons, thinking of the ones who were not there, and turned to leave. "I'm going to check on the rooms of everyone I don't see here," he said.

"I'll come with you," Coley told him. "The rest of you, get something to eat."

Jim and Lafe decided to go with them as well. The hallways leading to the rooms seemed eerily still.

"Who's missing?" Coley wondered.

Ray sighed. "The people with cabins are all there," he said. "I saw Mrs. Featherstone calling to Jane to come sit at her table with her."

"The cat sits at the table?" Lafe exclaimed in shock.

"Eats at it too," Coley grunted.

"Mrs. Featherstone always takes the same table, so other guests don't ever sit there," Ray hurriedly explained. "I wouldn't allow it otherwise."

"Oh." But Lafe shook his head, still bewildered and amazed.

Ray knocked on the first door and received a sleepy reply from inside. The person in the next room was in the shower.

"Maybe there's a normal explanation for all of them," Coley said.

"We can hope," Ray said, looking at him over his shoulder.

Lucius, in the meantime, was receiving a call. His expression dark, he pulled up the communicator pen. "What is it?" he greeted.

"Pinto, you're not in a good mood, are you," came Blackburn's sneering voice. "And why would you be? It's less than sixteen hours before the world is brought to its knees."

"Why did you want us all gassed until morning?" Lucius demanded. Hearing the conversation, Arte came over in concern to catch the rest of it.

Blackburn seemed to have anticipated the query. "You're a smart man. You can figure it out."

"I can think of two. You wanted to keep me from that meeting. And maybe more importantly, you were moving the thing into place and you didn't want interference," Lucius retorted. "What I don't understand is how you thought you could do it without a lot of other people seeing." According to Napoleon, other agents had been stationed up and down the Boulevard all night without seeing anything.

"The meeting was held somewhere else in the end. You understood my clue, didn't you?" Blackburn said smoothly.

"I thought I did. But I had the feeling your clue was leading to another clue and not the answer." Lucius glanced up at Arte, yet said nothing to acknowledge his presence. He did not want Blackburn to know someone else was there.

"Hollywood Boulevard," Arte mused under his breath. "Footsteps. . . . Grauman's Chinese Theatre. . . ."

"Think hard, Pinto!" Blackburn interrupted him. "You need to know where to come to try to rescue your employer. He's been stubborn against our grueling, nightlong interrogation about U.N.C.L.E.'s secrets. I'm not sure how many of them he can handle." And with that, the line went dead.

Lucius cursed, slamming the pen closed. But as he replaced it in his pocket, he caught snippets of what Arte was mumbling.

And then it hit him. "Maybe we're being too specific about this," he decided. "Maybe the answer is a lot more simple." He looked out the window. "Maybe it's Hollywood. Just Hollywood. As in, either the whole place or maybe something like the letters."

Arte blinked. "Do you think they could really hide it there?"

"I don't know," Lucius said slowly. "I heard they have a security system now, so it's not likely. Maybe it's in the mountain or on the other side. Or even on one of the adjoining mountains. But I'm going to make sure that checking that whole area is top priority."


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

Coley was deep in thought as they finished a check of the rooms with the absent people. Everyone seemed to be accounted for, save the Stones, the woman with the scarf, and one other, and he wondered if the latter two were both gone because they had shared an association in the criminal organization. These thoughts, however, were not foremost on his mind.

"Well," Ray sighed as he turned away from the last door, "that's all of them. I'm going to call the hospital and find out how Mrs. Stone is doing."

"That's a good idea," Jim said. "If she's awake, maybe there's something else she can tell us."

"Speaking of things to tell you . . ." Coley looked to Ray. "I remembered the craziest thing. It's pretty fuzzy in my mind, but it seems like the name over that warehouse Pinto was holding me at was the Hollywood Warehouse Company."

Ray stared. "And that might also be a possibility of where that wretched machine might be?"

"I guess it could be," said Coley. "But I don't remember where the place is." His eyes darkened. "You'll have to ask Pinto."

"It's also possible there's more than one of them, if it was a very successful company," said Jim.

"I'll look into it," Ray volunteered. "After I find out about Mrs. Stone."

"Don't forget about getting some food yourself," Coley pointed out.

"Oh. Yes, of course." But Ray already sounded occupied as he headed to his office to place the call.

"Bowen will want to know about this too," Coley said to the others.

"Then we might as well go back to the dining room and tell him," Lafe remarked.

Jim nodded, silently leading the way.

"You know, it's really crazy to think it's the day before Christmas Eve," Lafe mused. "It doesn't feel like any Christmas I've ever spent."

"I don't know if anyone's had a Christmas like this," Coley grunted. "Not just wondering if they might die, but if the whole world's going to fade out."

"And most of these people don't even know about it," Lafe said as they got back to the dining room. "You'd think those crazy people would be announcing it all over the place."

"You would, wouldn't you," Jim remarked. "They'd like to start a panic."

"Unless they mainly just want to quietly gather together the strong but stupid people they consider worthy enough to join their ranks and figure that they don't want to bother picking those people out from a mass panic," Coley said.

Jim nodded. "Or maybe they'll make the announcement sometime today."

Spotting Lucius and Arte conversing at a table, they made their way through the room and over to the others.

Arte started and looked up. "Oh, hello, James. What's the verdict?"

"Everyone seems to be here and alright, except for the known or possible spies," Jim intoned. "And we have a new idea."

"So do we," said Lucius. "Sit down and we'll discuss them."

Coley still wanted to check with security about the meeting even though Blackburn had said it had been held somewhere else. And Lucius was very interested in what Coley thought he remembered about the location of his captivity. He took out his phone and pulled down the keyboard, tapping the name of the warehouse into the search engine.

Jim watched with interest. It was the first time he had seen a Smartphone in use. At his side, Arte was absolutely entranced.

"You can really do all of that on your cellphone?!" he exclaimed in amazement.

"Yeah," Lucius said with only a brief glance up, "and more. It can play videos, music, and take care of banking. I never bank with mine, though," he added. "I'd rather go right into the place."

"He's stubborn that way," Napoleon quipped as he passed by the table. "He's worried that mobile banking isn't secure."

Lucius grunted, now occupied with the results of his Internet search. He clicked on the first link that looked promising.

"It's a legit company," he reported. "Still operating. The warehouse Mr. Rodman was in is probably this one, an older one shut down because it wasn't up to the current safety code." He turned the phone to face the others and pointed to a photograph.

Coley looked at it and immediately looked away. "Yeah, that's it," he muttered. "The sign looks just like it did when I saw it."

"Where are the other ones?" Jim queried.

"There's a couple right in Hollywood," Lucius said, scrolling through the list. "One's in the Valley. And there's a couple more on the docks."

"We'll need to check all of them," Jim said. "Arte and I will take one."

"Illya and I are certainly up to checking another," said Napoleon.

"I'm going to be examining more than one," Lucius said matter-of-factly. "I can go alone or with someone else; I don't care which."

"When you're on a case, you're even more aloof than Illya was when he first came to us," Napoleon observed.

Lucius shrugged. "My line of work normally doesn't require a partner."

"How well I know." Napoleon looked to Jim and Arte. "How long have you been working with this one?"

"Just over the weekend," Arte said. "Strange, it seems so much longer than that."

"He's quite a character," said Napoleon. "I don't mind telling you that Mr. Waverly's had more than a few headaches from him."

But the mention of their missing boss sobered Napoleon as soon as the words were out. He quieted, not offering any more teasing directed at his fellow agent.

Lucius, who might have retorted if not for the change in mood, scratched out the various addresses of the warehouses and stood. "Take at least one if you're planning to join the search," he said.

Jim and Napoleon claimed theirs, and Coley took one as well. "Ray and I'll have a look at one of them," he said.

Arte noted that Coley had not chosen the abandoned warehouse. But he said nothing, of course not blaming Coley in the least for leaving it out.

"Miss Posey's gang will probably want to get into the act," Arte said instead.

"Where did they go, anyway?" Coley frowned.

"Over there." Jim, having caught sight of them at the buffet table, nodded in their direction. "It looks like Sergei has struck up a conversation with Mr. Kuryakin."

Napoleon's lips formed an O. "They must be discussing food," he said. "I never thought I'd meet anyone else who could put away as much food as Illya does and stay thin."

That finally caused Lucius to smirk slightly. "Sergei would give him a run for his money."

He weaved around the tables, going to get some food himself. He might just load some things into a sack and head out, he thought to himself. Checking the warehouses in addition to the other possible locations could take the better part of the day, since they were spread out all over the county. He wanted to get started.

"I'm assuming his taste for apples hasn't been quenched in the least," Napoleon remarked.

"I doubt it," said Jim. "He's been eating them off and on the whole time."

Coley got up from the table. "I'm going to check on Ray and tell him about this," he said. "Lafe, do you want to come with us when we go?"

Lafe started and looked over in surprise. "Sure, Coley," he said. "But are you going to eat something first?"

"Yeah," Coley said. "Ray should, too. I'll be back with him." And with that he headed out of the dining room, intending to check with security as well as to talk with Ray.

Jim turned to Arte. "What happened to Snakes?" he wondered.

"Snakes?" Arte cringed with the realization that he was not sure. "I thought Mr. Cannon was making sure he wasn't getting away, but with the Posey gang at the buffet table, Snakes may have managed to slip off in terror."

Jim nodded with a frown. "Maybe thinking Miss Posey would try to poison his food."

"I'm honestly not sure she wouldn't," Arte had to admit. "I knew she wouldn't be forgiving after Snakes' bomb nearly killed Pinto. If she and the gang had been alone with Snakes in Mr. Norman's office, she really might have simply shot him down then."

"But I don't think she would let her need for revenge get in the way of our more important mission today," Jim mused. "Having to deal with Snakes dropping dead would cause us to lose valuable time that we're going to need. She knows that."

"True," Arte consented. "I suppose we'll just have to hope she'll leave him alone altogether. I don't want to have to keep breaking up their encounters, either."

Jim started to get up from the table. "Let's look for him while we get something to eat," he suggested.

Arte's eyes lit up. "Now, James, my boy, you're speaking my language," he declared.

xxxx

Snakes was not anywhere in the increasingly crowded dining room. But he was still on the premises. After having hurriedly put together a plate of assorted foods, he had seen Posey and the other gang members approaching the buffet and had indeed fled in terror.

He had first ducked into the busy kitchen and from there, into one of the private dining rooms. He was the only one in that particular room, and he hid in a corner, eating quietly while not so much daring to open any of the curtains.

What was he going to do now?

The question kept turning over and over in his mind. He had been alright with working for Jim and Arte, after Jim had forced him to come back. At least he had been confident that they would not let him die.

He was still confident that they would _try,_ but against all of Posey's gang it sounded like a hopeless cause. They had more important things to worry about than his pathetic life. They could easily forget him for a few minutes, just as they apparently had now, giving Posey and her crew plenty of time to catch up with and kill him.

No, he had to look out for himself, just as he had for years. He couldn't trust anyone else to do it.

But he frowned in the darkness. He couldn't really trust himself to do it, either. Looking out for himself had gotten him killed once—when he had decided he didn't want to live under Posey's thumb—and nearly killed a second time—when he had also decided he didn't want to work for Florence any more.

So what was left? Looking out for someone else?

He sneered. The last time he had tried _that,_ during the Civil War, he had been found out and brutally attacked by a man who had never liked him and had held a grudge for losing to him in several poker games. He had been left wounded and bleeding to crawl back to camp and plead for medical help.

His left cheek never had recovered from that. It had been branded with the sickening scar that had given him his nickname.

His soul had never recovered, either. It was when he had lain in bed, his face bandaged and his ribs and side still screaming from the cruel beating, that he had determined to never again look out for anyone's interests other than his own.

That policy had served him well until several years after the war, when Posey and Pinto had sought him out because of his reputation as an explosives expert. His greed had made him accept their offer of being a regional leader in their set-up, and his dislike and distrust of being subordinate to anyone had later made him rebel.

His hand shook as he held onto the fork. He remembered those years in Justice, after his death. The other board members had mostly shunned and ignored him, which had been fine with him. But sometimes Pinto had come after him, wanting to torture him for trying to kill the woman he loved. Snakes had run, but how far could a ghost run from another ghost, especially when they were both condemned to a specific area of square footage?

The worst part about being tortured after death was that there was no unconsciousness or death that could be used as a release if the pain became too much. Pinto had relished that. He had left Snakes writhing in unthinkable, unspeakable states of agony more than once.

Snakes supposed he must have eventually fallen into some state of oblivion after those times of horror, because he always recalled waking up sooner or later, whole again. He had no idea how his ghostly body had mended, but he had never wanted to think too much about it.

He still had nightmares about those days sometimes. Perhaps it was what had happened after his death, and not death itself, that had made him so obsessively terrified about clinging to life.

He finished eating and slowly got up. Should he go back out there? He supposed he wouldn't get very far if he tried to run. And maybe Posey would even anticipate it and head him off.

He sighed to himself. He would be safer with West and Gordon around, even if they got distracted, instead of trying to go off all on his own.

Besides, if that device went off, he would sure as heck end up dead again. And Posey and the others would too.

That thought was more than enough to drive him back into the kitchen and then into the main dining room, even as a surprised cook exclaimed, "Hey! Where did you come from?!"

Arte looked up with a start as Snakes reentered the larger room. "Well, where have you been?" he greeted. "Jim and I were about to decide you'd up and run out for good."

Snakes shrugged. "I just wanted to eat with a little more privacy," he drawled, pulling his hat low.

Arte shrugged too. "That's fine," he said. "But we can't spend a lot of time looking for you, you know."

"I know. I wouldn't expect you to." Snakes walked with him back to the table, where Jim, Lafe, Lucius, Coley, and Ray were finishing up eating.

"We still don't fully know that you're not working with the enemy here," Arte reminded him.

"I'm not." Snakes slid into a chair. "I'll stick with you on this, but you have to keep Posey and her people from getting to me."

"That's more than fair," Arte said. "But they'll surely leave you alone. They don't want the world blown up either."

"I guess." Snakes shifted. "Are we getting out of here soon?"

"Yes, to check some warehouses and Hollywood," said Arte. "I suppose you'd better come with us."

"Is Posey's crew coming too?" Snakes asked worriedly.

"I doubt it," said Jim. "They'll probably spread out and check other places. There shouldn't be more than around three in each group. A large number of people such as Miss Posey and her gang would stand out immediately."

"Especially considering how . . . _unique_ that entire gang is," Arte remarked. "Even if they split up, it's going to be hard not to notice characters like Cyril the Firebug, lighting matches left and right, and Sergei, always eating something."

"Maybe they should spread throughout Hollywood," Lucius said flatly. "There's all kinds of strange people there every day."

"Ah, so you think they might fit in better there," Arte said.

"They might," Lucius nodded.

"Or they might still stick out anyway," Coley muttered. "I don't know how any kooks could be weirder than some of them."

"I don't know about that," Ray said with a funny smile. "There's a crazy vigilante who comes around sometimes, calling himself the Ruthless Tooth. He dresses up like a tooth and swings on a piece of rope made of floss. Not to mention he has a machine that gargles up foam and bubbles when he wants to make an escape."

Coley gave him a long, blank stare. "Okay," he said at last. "Now _that's_ weirder than Posey's gang."

Lafe was gaping in shock. "Who would do something like that?" he exclaimed.

"The police are torn between a daredevil just wanting attention and a dentist that went insane," Ray replied. "They've never managed to catch him yet."

"My vote is a mad dentist," Arte said, shaking his head. "I don't know how even a daredevil could be that obsessive for attention."

"I don't know about that, Arte," Jim said in a slightly amused tone of voice. "Some daredevils can be extremely creative."

"There's another idiot back East, who dresses up like a piece of toast," Lucius grunted. "He says he's a supervillain and runs across U.N.C.L.E. HQ's roof now and then."

"Does he know what it is?" Arte said in amazement.

"We haven't been able to figure that out yet," Lucius replied. "But anyway, the point is, Posey's gang should be able to work well in Hollywood." He stood, pushing back his chair. "We've spent long enough getting food. We don't have much time left to find this thing."

Coley started to get up too. "He's right," he said. "Everyone's got their assignments. Start moving out!"

"I feel like I'm one of your security guards, Coley," Arte remarked.

Coley grunted. "I have to give them orders before we leave, too."

He weaved among the tables, pausing by Mrs. Featherstone's to say goodbye to her and Jane. He petted the cat's head and she meowed, nuzzling him.

"No worried and grief-stricken felines this time, I see," Arte noted as he finished his second helping of food. "Coley might not see her again until this is all over."

"So maybe Rodman's not specifically in danger," Jim said. "But I wonder if Jane has any inkling about the whole world as we know it possibly coming to an end."

"If she could speak English, I'd ask her and find out," Arte said, only half-joking.

Ray also paused to say goodbye to Mrs. Featherstone and Jane. And he earnestly hoped and prayed that this was not their last meeting.

He also hoped and prayed that if they met again, it would not be to go through the portal to the past. He did not want that to be the only solution to this madness, especially since his parents would most likely not have time to get here to go too—and likely wouldn't even believe him if he tried to explain that there was a portal.

He was still torn on what to think about his call to the hospital, as well. Mrs. Stone was recovering, according to the doctor, but she was dazed and distraught over her husband's abduction. The only intelligible thing anyone had been able to get out of her was that THRUSH had him. The doctor insisted that she could not be further upset and visitors were currently not allowed into her room.

That left focusing on searching all over Los Angeles for the hideout—which Ray was fully determined to do for many reasons. He didn't want the world to be decimated except for those who would follow a new world order. He didn't want to die unless he time-traveled to the past. And he didn't want Mr. Stone to remain a prisoner of THRUSH.

He sighed, straightening, and followed Coley and Lafe to the door. It was going to be a very strange December 23rd, indeed.

xxxx

Lucrece was tense as she and Pinto wandered along Hollywood Boulevard. The other gang members had spread throughout the rest of Hollywood as per Lucius's idea, with change and instructions to call the cellphone if they saw anything suspicious. They had all been roaming the streets for hours. By now it was nearing twilight, and as far as they knew from their occasional communications, no one had had any luck in their assorted searches.

"Lucius was right," Lucrece remarked as two people dressed as superheroes brushed past. "This is a very unusual place."

"Kind of fascinating, though," Pinto mused. "I wouldn't mind exploring sometime when we're not looking for a doomsday thing."

"Do you really believe that we must have had this adventure before we were married?" Lucrece frowned. "You know, it seems strange that one of us wouldn't have recorded all of these experiences somewhere and that our family would have had that volume through the ages."

"Maybe we were afraid of wrecking the timeline if we brought up time travel in some record?" Pinto suggested.

"I suppose." Lucrece glanced upward. "But I see very little sense in our being here at all. Those U.N.C.L.E. agents were on the Boulevard all night and saw nothing suspicious. And they seem to be efficient at what they do."

"You wanna check somewhere else then?" Pinto offered.

"Probably. Maybe after we have a better look at the area from up there." She indicated the Hollywood and Highland Center's observation deck. "Although I can't help wondering what that ridiculous-looking building is for."

Pinto looked up at it and nodded thoughtfully. "Might as well try it out. And maybe later we can come back and explore the whole thing." He smirked. "With such a crazy design, there has to be something to see inside, too."

Soon they were on the elevated platform and Lucrece was peering through one of the coin-operated telescopes, hoping it was still light enough to see something. Pinto stood by, watching her, and idly looked out over the area.

"Anything?" he asked after a moment.

"Not anything relevant to our interests," Lucrece said. "I see even more odd people traveling up and down the streets. There's two right there who . . . seem to be climbing a tree for no particular reason. And someone else dressed as one of those famous motion picture characters we keep encountering. The one attired in black who uses a red sword. He's apparently challenging someone to a duel."

Pinto whistled. "What a place."

After a moment Lucrece lost interest and stepped back. Pinto took over with glee, turning the telescope from one side to the other. Lucrece wandered to the edge of the platform, looking towards the Hollywood sign. The sun was setting and twilight was fast approaching, but if she looked hard enough, figures appeared to be walking near the letters.

"I think someone's on the mountain," she announced.

Pinto swung the telescope in that direction. "Could be the U.N.C.L.E. agents Lucius was sending up there," he said. "Maybe we should call him and see if they're up there now."

Lucrece had the phone out and was dialing in the next moment. Within five minutes she had an answer.

"They're not from U.N.C.L.E.," she reported. "They might be workers, but Lucius isn't sure. He's going to check."

"Well, they're just walking around," Pinto drawled. "Maybe climbing up some more. They don't act like they're up for leaving any time soon."

"Keep watching them until Lucius calls back," Lucrece instructed. "I'll watch them too, as much as I can."

Lucius was both grim and hopeful when he returned the call. "They're not workers," he said. "This might be it. The U.N.C.L.E. agents stationed nearest to there will start moving in." He hesitated. "On the other hand, it could be a deliberate diversion."

"I realize that," said Lucrece. "What should Pinto and I do?"

"Just . . ." Lucius paused. "Stay there for now. Don't purposely get into the thick of it if you can avoid it. _Please._"

Lucrece set her jaw. "We won't," she said. "But if we're needed, nothing will keep us away, including the concerns over our being out of our time."

"I know." Lucius drew a shaking breath. "But . . . you're family. Even if there wasn't this . . . really awkward concern over what could happen to me if something happens to you, I just don't want you or Pinto hurt."

He fell silent again. ". . . I guess I shouldn't call him Pinto," he said. "It feels . . . disrespectful, considering what he and you are to me."

"Well, don't call him 'Great-Great-Grandfather'," Lucrece retorted. "Or me 'Great-Great-Grandmother.' We're not, yet, in our timeline. It makes me feel much too old. Disrespectful or not, he certainly doesn't care if you call him Pinto. You may call me Lucrece."

"Alright. Then, stay there, Lucrece. Just wait for further instructions. I'll call back as soon as I know anything else."

"Very well." Lucrece hung up the phone.

Pinto was still looking through the telescope. "Sounds like that was an interesting conversation," he remarked.

"It was quite possibly the strangest conversation I've had yet," Lucrece replied as she walked over to him.

"You're still young. There's plenty of time for more of 'em."

Lucrece half-smirked and turned her attention towards the mountain. "What's going on up there now?" she frowned. "Did I just see a light?"

"I think so." Pinto waited a moment. When it came again, he perked up. "Yep, you sure enough did. And it's not just a regular flashlight beaming around. It looks like it's a signal to someone else."

"Where's the other party?" Lucrece wondered.

"Can't tell. I don't see any answering beam."

"Can you tell what's being said?"

"Looks like Morse code. Yeah." Pinto studied it for a moment. "'If Pinto is with you, this is the right place.'"

Lucrece stiffened. "I doubt they mean you."

"Nope; probably Lucius. And how would they know anyone would be in range to see their little message?" Pinto straightened, leaning on the telescope. "Seems all too easy."

"It's probably a trap," Lucrece agreed. "And if we walk into it, you could be mistaken for Lucius and killed."

Pinto nodded. "Call Lucius and tell him," he said. "Maybe there's one of those whirlybirds he can send up to get a better look."

"I'm doing that now," Lucrece said as she dialed.

xxxx

Arte felt an eerie foreboding as he, Jim, and Snakes got out of the car near the one abandoned branch of the Hollywood Warehouse Company. The old sign was dirty and breaking, many of the windows were already broken, and the whole structure looked ready to collapse at any given moment.

Arte shook his head. "So this is where Pinto tortured poor Coley," he said grimly. "I can see why he chose it. No one in his right mind would come here."

"I guess that means we're all insane," Jim deadpanned.

"Well, I certainly feel like I am," Arte declared. "They couldn't be operating from here, Jim! Something so big it could destroy the world would fall through the floor and take them with it!"

"Then let's get out of here and try the next place," Snakes said uneasily. "I don't want to be here."

"If everything's the way it looks, we'll be gone in a few minutes," Jim replied. He advanced on the building, intent on looking through one of the broken windows.

Arte sighed, but went towards a window on the other side of the door.

The click of a gun and a horrified gasp from Snakes made both Arte and Jim go rigid and turn in growing alarm. Florence was holding a gun to the back of Snakes' head.

"Hello again," she purred, sounding dark and deadly and not at all like a captive of the man she had planned to double-cross. With her other hand she reached up, stroking the pieces of Snakes' hair visible from below his hat. He cringed, repulsed and terrified.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," she cautioned, seeing Jim and Arte going for their guns. She pressed her gun harder against Snakes' head. "Not unless you _want_ me to splatter this weasel's brains all over the pier. Just come along quietly and maybe he'll live. Maybe you will, too."


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

Ray was worn-out, discouraged, and despondent as they trudged away from their warehouse in the Valley. Coley, irritated as well, shoved his hands in his pockets.

"You're still worried about Mrs. Stone," he said quietly.

Ray nodded. "I've been thinking about her all day. I should call the hospital again and find out if she's any better. And I wonder if Mr. Stone is even still alive! I can't imagine THRUSH would keep him alive when they tried to kill her."

Coley wasn't sure, but he didn't want to say. He laid a hand on Ray's shoulder. "One way or another, we'll find out," he said at last.

Ray tried to smile. "I'm sure we will, especially with you around. You'll push into THRUSH if you have to."

"So will you, or you wouldn't be here," Coley grunted. "You used to be a forceful guy. I don't think all of that's left you just because you're not a blackmailer any more."

"I hope it hasn't," Ray sighed. "Usually I don't feel very forceful any more. But then someone I care about is hurt and the anger just starts boiling up inside me." He clenched a fist.

"Yeah. I felt like that every time Everly came after you," Coley said.

Ray shuddered. He didn't like to talk or think about Everly. It made him think again about how Everly had nearly killed Coley by setting off Snakes' bomb. And that made him want to go after Everly in fury. But Everly was dead and Coley was alive. And Ray would much rather focus on his new life with his friend, even if Everly was alive to go after.

"It's almost dark," Lafe exclaimed, breaking into Ray's thoughts. "We've been all over everywhere and so have all the other groups. And nobody's found anything! What are we going to do, Coley?"

Coley reached to push his hat up in frustration. "I don't know," he said. "Posey and Pinto think they might have something, but Bowen thinks it's a distraction. Some U.N.C.L.E. helicopter is going up to look."

". . . What's a helicopter?"

Coley paused, taking in the honest query before starting to walk again. It amused him somewhat, he realized—how only a few weeks ago he might have asked the same question of Ray, and now he was talking about modern technology like it was the most normal thing—on the night that might be the last he would ever see any of it.

"It's a flying contraption," he said.

"Have you been in one?" Lafe queried, his eyes wide.

"Yeah," Coley said. "Several times."

Ray managed a smile at the conversation. "We won't have much time to get anyone to the portal to save them," he said as he sobered. "Especially not if the search is going to go on much longer."

"West and Gordon haven't checked in for a long time," Coley frowned. "And I think they decided to check the broken-down warehouse."

Ray looked to him in concern. "That shouldn't have taken long."

"Maybe the floor broke and they fell through," Coley grunted. "If we can't get them on the phone, we'd probably better go out there and see if they're around and okay."

"You're sure worried about them, Coley."

Coley glanced to Lafe. "I told you they're not our enemies now, Lafe."

"I know, but it just seems weird, is all," Lafe replied. "I mean, before a couple days ago, the last time I heard you talking about them you were sending Whitey up to make sure they were dead."

Coley winced. "Yeah, I remember. Whitey probably does too. Considering what happened to him, I'm surprised he isn't mad at _me_ for giving that order."

"Oh, he was pretty glad to get out of being on that prison transport, even if he was in the hospital, hurt," Lafe said. "He got away when he was better. He's been looking for you too."

He paused. "All of them are, back there," he said quietly. "I hate to think of leaving them in the lurch by just staying here."

"For all we know, we might _all_ be going back there," Coley returned.

They reached the car and Ray unlocked it. Coley hauled open the back door and climbed inside. Lafe followed, slowly, while Ray got into the driver's seat and took out his phone.

"Seriously, Lafe," Coley continued as he watched Ray dial the phone he had given Arte, "if the world does stick around, the others will probably wind up here sooner or later. And if they don't, didn't you figure out some meeting place and time to get together again?"

"Yeah, we did," Lafe replied. "We didn't know if we'd even all make it back; we don't have any possibility of amnesty."

"But at least it's known now that none of us were going along with Kirby's plans, isn't it?" Coley said in concern. "With those charges dropped, even if one of you got arrested, you shouldn't get shot on sight."

"I think those charges are dropped," Lafe said. "I hope so."

"Well, if you decide to go back to get to that meeting, you could tell the others what you found. If they were all willing to give going straight a try, I'd be happy to have all of them here."

"Gee, I don't know, Coley." Lafe frowned, hesitant. "I don't think they'd all agree. I don't know that they'd even believe any of this about you."

"It wouldn't hurt to try anyway, would it?" Coley returned.

"I hope not." Lafe still looked uncomfortable. "Some of them might feel kind of betrayed. We all look up to you, Coley. We wanted you back to lead us."

"I know," Coley sighed. "And I don't want anyone to feel like he's been betrayed. But I'm not going to leave this new life here, not unless I have to go back through the portal to stay alive. And I'd be going straight back there, too."

"I know you would," Lafe said. "I've been watching you close, Coley, and I can see you really are happy with this." He looked down. "I hope the world doesn't get destroyed. I want you to be able to live here, where you want to the most."

Coley smiled a bit, touched. "I want that too," he admitted. "But I'd be okay with living in the past, if it's the only way."

He looked to Ray, who was putting the phone down. "No luck?"

"Nothing," Ray said. "I tried several times. And I know the battery was at full power. It wouldn't have run down."

Coley exhaled in discouraged frustration. "Then let's go out there and see if they need help." He pulled down the seatbelt, definitely not pleased. He had hoped to never have to see that place again.

Ray looked at him in the rearview mirror, a question on his tongue, but he held it. Coley hated that warehouse, but he was willing to go back if he thought it necessary. And right now, it looked like it could be.

Ray started the engine, beginning to pull away from the parking space.

"Put your seatbelt on, Lafe," he heard Coley growling in the back.

"Aww, Coley, we never needed these things before," Lafe retorted. "Stages don't have them."

"A lot of people probably would have lived a lot longer if they'd been around," Coley said. "Besides, there's a big fine if you're caught not wearing one."

". . . Okay." Ray heard the other seatbelt click.

He smiled to himself.

xxxx

Jim and Arte were tense as they followed behind Flo and a far more tense Snakes. She seemed to be leading them away from the warehouse and into the middle of the unofficial junkyard that the surrounding area had become.

"Well, Flo, you don't seem worried about what Blackburn will do to you, considering that he found out you've been double-crossing him," Arte remarked. "Or would that be triple-crossing?"

"Blackburn has bigger problems," Florence said with a flippant shrug. "THRUSH learned that he's been playing in F.O.W.L. waters and has put a clamp on his plans." She smirked. "They're keeping him under heavy guard to see to it that he uses the doomsday weapon for THRUSH and not for himself. Meanwhile, I was able to quietly slip away and return to F.O.W.L. It's my job to lead F.O.W.L. agents against Blackburn and THRUSH in order to obtain the weapon for F.O.W.L."

"You're busy," Jim said flatly. "But what are you doing here?"

"F.O.W.L. wanted me to bring the man you call Lucius Bowen back alive, for questioning about Blackburn," Florence told him. "I know that he's orchestrating the county-wide search for the hideout and his abducted boss. So I'm just making the rounds. I thought if I didn't hit on the place where he was looking, maybe I'd get some good hostages to draw him out. And I think I have." She shoved Snakes forward and he stumbled, throwing out his hands to try to keep himself from pitching onto the ground. "Oh, I know no one cares about poor Snakes here, but the two of you won't let him be mercilessly killed. As long as I have him, you will do what I want. And the two of you are very good hostages indeed."

Arte winced. "Jim, I think we've gotten into quite a terrible situation."

"I know we have, Arte," Jim declared.

"Oh, by the way," Arte said to Florence, "are we right in assuming that Blackburn now has the final component for the device?"

"Yes, he does," Florence said in moderate annoyance, "but that doesn't deter me from my plans."

"I wouldn't expect it would," said Arte. "If anything, it's probably made you more determined than ever to win."

"Of course," Florence smirked. "And in the end, I will."

Arte's phone suddenly gave a sharp ring. Everyone jumped. Then, turning to Florence, Arte gave her a knowing but nervous smile.

"That will most likely be someone wanting to know if we've found anything," he said. "But it might not be Lucius."

"See who it is," Florence ordered. "But don't answer unless I say you can."

Arte took out the phone from his pocket and studied the screen. "It's Mr. Norman," he said. "Coley and Lafe are with him. He _is_ in contact with Lucius, however. If I answer, he can get a message to Lucius."

Florence frowned. "No, they'd probably try to rescue you themselves, not wanting to get Lucius into a trap. They already know Blackburn's trying to lead him into one."

"If Arte doesn't answer, they'll just come here," Jim pointed out.

"Where they will promptly be captured as well," Florence said. "If anyone's here at all." She prodded Snakes towards a dark van.

Jim's eyes narrowed. "Are you actually planning to do what F.O.W.L. wants in delivering Lucius alive?" he asked.

"Surely you're not still planning to work with Blackburn," Arte exclaimed.

"That's all past and done with," Florence said boredly. "Yes, I will do as F.O.W.L. wishes. My current position is too precarious to do otherwise. Once they liquidate Blackburn, there will be no one left to tell F.O.W.L. of my assistance to Blackburn."

"You're forgetting about us," Jim said. "And Lucius. But you're planning to have us liquidated when F.O.W.L. uses the doomsday device, aren't you?"

"Of course. And F.O.W.L.'s top leaders will be eliminated at that point as well. They just don't know it yet."

"Of course," Arte sighed. "And just how will you manage that?"

"Nevermind." They reached the van and two F.O.W.L. agents swung the doors open from inside. Florence started to push Snakes ahead of her into the vehicle.

Jim was very quietly extracting a miniature grenade from his belt buckle. As Arte watched and started to grin in anticipation, Jim turned and threw the thing at some of the assorted junk.

The resulting explosion and rocking of the van created mass chaos. Snakes fell backwards on top of a shocked Florence. The F.O.W.L. agents, yelling and cursing, grabbed for their guns. Snakes drew first and shot one. Jim shot the other.

Arte caught hold of Florence's arm as she pushed at and wriggled away from Snakes. "Uh uh, I'm afraid we just can't let you go this time," he smiled. "And I hate to do this to a member of the female species, but desperate times call for desperate measures." He stuck his gun into her back. "Since you were working with Blackburn, you must know where THRUSH is keeping this amazing doomsday weapon. Now _we_ have to know where it is."

Florence sneered. "You won't shoot me. Then I'll never be able to tell you."

"We might just tell F.O.W.L. about your duplicity, however," Arte said lightly. He pressed the gun harder. "Please do cooperate. We don't have much time."

Florence's look turned smoldering and hateful. "Blackburn has his men signaling for Lucius to come to the Hollywood sign. Of course, he doesn't really think Lucius will fall for it, but he was hoping to attract some of his associates or even Posey and Pinto."

"And then he would use them to get Lucius to come out, the same as you're trying to do with us," Arte frowned. "But is the thing really somewhere on that mountain?!"

"Certainly not. But from that mountain is where the answer can be seen." Florence smirked. "And that's all I'm going to say."

"Wonderful," Arte muttered under his breath. Louder he said, "Jim, what do we do now?"

"We call Lucius," Jim said flatly. "And after that, we'd better call Mr. Norman back."

"I'll tie her up," Snakes said with glee as he came over.

"Oh, would you? How thoughtful," Arte smiled. "But use these instead." He handed Snakes a pair of handcuffs, which Snakes snapped on Florence's wrists with pleasure.

She twisted around to smirk at him. "You're bold now, but only because I'm not holding a gun to your head," she sneered. "You're a pathetic creature, Snakes Tolliver, always trembling with fear and terrified of death. I have to wonder, have you ever been a real man?"

"I used to be," Snakes muttered.

Arte had the feeling that Snakes was just as ashamed of his behavior as Florence was revolted by it. But, as Jim called Lucius and got through, Arte soon had far different matters on his mind.

"I'm almost ready to get on a helicopter to check out the Hollywood sign," Lucius's voice crackled over the phone. "I can hardly hear you; you're breaking up."

Jim yelled into the phone. "We have Florence and she claims that the clue you're supposed to see is visible from the top of that mountain!"

Static and silence. "That's weird. I'll keep an eye out. Thank you." Lucius broke off the connection.

"Well," Arte sighed, "I guess all there is now is to wait and find out what he sees, if anything."

Jim nodded as he dialed Ray's number. "That's just about all there is," he agreed. "Unless Florence breaks down and talks more, but I'm not counting on that."

"Me either," Arte said, shaking his head. "She's one stubborn woman. Dangerous, too."

"If Lucius can't crack the mystery and she thinks she's going to die at midnight, she might be more willing to talk," Jim said. "We'd better really keep hold of her this time."

"No arguments from me," said Arte.

xxxx

After taking Jim's strange call, Lucius had almost immediately climbed aboard the U.N.C.L.E. helicopter bound for the Hollywood sign. He frowned as they soon passed over it with the searchlights activated.

"Those men are gone now," he said in irritation. "And I don't see any trace of anyone else up there."

"They must have already left," said Illya, from his position at the controls.

"Yes, but what were they doing up there in the first place?" Napoleon mused.

"They could have disappeared into the mountain," Illya suggested. "If THRUSH has their secret chamber inside."

"Or maybe . . ." Lucius trailed off. "Hey, what's that thing over there?" He pointed to the silhouette of a giant billboard shaped like a ship.

"Oh, it's just some advertisement for a cruise," Illya said dismissively.

". . . On a ship called the _Hollywood Dream_," Napoleon suddenly realized.

Lucius swore under his breath. "That's what Mr. West meant when he called and said I was supposed to come up the mountain. It was to see that billboard. That must be where we have to go to stop the device—the _Hollywood Dream_!"

"It's a special Christmas cruise setting sail tonight," Illya said. "The ship will be filled with people at midnight."

"And then . . . no more people."

Napoleon's grim pronouncement set Illya turning the helicopter around. "Call the others," Illya directed. "And have as many U.N.C.L.E. agents on standby as possible."

Napoleon nodded. "We have a dual mission, even if Lucius has forgotten it. We have to save Mr. Waverly as well as to stop THRUSH's device."

"I haven't forgotten." Lucius's voice was dark and cold. "But Mr. Waverly himself would say that our first priority is to stop that device. It won't matter if we save him, if the device goes off at midnight."

Napoleon and Illya knew that all too well. "Our first priority is indeed stopping the device," said Napoleon. "But I suppose we wonder, considering your nature and your . . . prior career, if you're concerned about Mr. Waverly at all."

"And that," Lucius retorted, "is none of your business."

He loaded a clip into his gun, noting that Napoleon and Illya had both fallen silent. After a moment he heard a subdued Napoleon contacting U.N.C.L.E. about the _Hollywood Dream_. He tuned out the conversation, instead staring out of the helicopter and into the Los Angeles night, glittering with the lights from buildings.

Napoleon was right—he was a trained killer. He wasn't supposed to care. He was supposed to get the main job done, no matter what was involved in doing so, and be satisfied as long as that was achieved.

But he _wouldn't_ be satisfied if Mr. Waverly died. He knew that right now. He just wasn't about to tell the others that in this instance he was just like them—he couldn't bear to let Mr. Waverly go any more than they could.

Instead, he was desperately trying to think of how both objectives could be accomplished. Unfortunately, that was something he wouldn't know, _couldn't_ know, until he saw the set-up at the cruise ship.

xxxx

The cruise ship was already filling up with people when the first civilian group—the van with Lucrece and the other board members—arrived. Lucrece parked as close as she could and turned off the engine, frowning as she clutched the steering wheel and observed the steady stream of guests planning on a cruise.

"What a set-up," Pinto mused. "And what a crazy ship. It's decked out like a little Hollywood. I bet it's even more interesting on the inside."

Lucrece nodded. "I wonder if the people aboard are meant to perish as well, or if they're the specially chosen ones who will survive."

"Good question," Pinto said. "But the thing would probably have to be like Noah's ark to keep anybody alive."

"Which it most certainly is not." Lucrece eyed the many levels and the amount of windows present on each one.

Pinto shook his head. "Anybody falling from the tip-top of that thing into the water would probably be killed. Or get knocked out and drown."

"Hopefully no one will have a reason to go to the top," Lucrece said, sounding occupied. "But I don't see any location on the exterior of the ship from which a device could be launched."

Sergei chomped on a sandwich. "They had better have kitchen onboard."

Cyril lit one match on another match and cackled. "They had better have fireplaces onboard!"

Lucrece facepalmed. "This isn't a pleasure trip," she scolded. "It's bound to be very dangerous for all of us."

Sergei glanced out the window. "Is U.N.C.L.E. here yet?"

"I don't know," Lucrece frowned. "I don't see Lucius. He and those two friends of his are the only U.N.C.L.E. agents I know by sight." She leaned forward, trying to see if anyone else appeared to be observing the ship.

"Are we planning to go aboard the ship or wait here?" Brutus wondered.

"Wait, unless we see a reason why we need to go aboard," Lucrece replied. "Such as seeing a known ally or enemy. But it's hard to make out any individual person in this crowd."

"The local police are here," Brutus pointed out. "But perhaps they are just making certain everyone boards in an orderly manner?"

"That could be; I don't know anything about modern ship regulations, particularly cruise ships." Lucrece studied the officers for a moment. "They look tense, though, and keep glancing around. They may be bored . . . or they may be expecting trouble."

"Do the police even know about the device, I wonder?" said Brutus.

"Lucius said that U.N.C.L.E. usually operates on its own and only calls in the local police if they have to or if the police call them first," Pinto remembered. "So I dunno. I guess they could know, especially since they've kept getting mixed up in this mess all along."

"There's someone!" Lucrece declared, suddenly opening the car door and stepping out.

"Who has she seen?" Gallito asked, trying to see around Cyril.

It was Jim, Arte, and Snakes who wandered in sight of the van's occupants in the next moment. Lucrece walked over to talk with them.

"We haven't seen anything very suspicious," she reported. "Have you talked with Lucius?"

"Yes," said Jim. "Right after we delivered Florence back to the authorities. Lucius said to wait for him before moving in, unless we saw a reason why we couldn't wait."

Snakes eyed the ship uneasily. "How are we going to get on it at all?" he wondered. "Somebody's checking everybody's tickets at the door."

"We'll be expected, if this ship is truly being run by THRUSH," said Arte. "I have a feeling we'll be let onboard without any trouble."

"_Lucius_ is expected," Lucrece corrected. "Unless we're being let onboard as bait to attract him, I see no reason why we would be accepted as passengers."

"I suppose it depends on who the passengers are," Arte mused. "If everyone on the ship is meant to die, I'm afraid we would be welcomed with open arms."

"This ship is almost ready to set sail, so to speak," Lucrece flatly informed him. "Apparently it's supposed to be well under way by midnight."

"And I don't see Lucius," Pinto frowned. "We're just going to have to get onboard anyway and then call him again from the ship."

Jim nodded. "We'll sneak onboard while the last group of passengers are being processed," he determined. "Come on."

He led the group closer to the massive ship and around some crates to the side. Unleashing his grappling hook, he managed to secure it on the top of the highest railing. He tugged to make sure it was safe and then started to climb.

Pinto idly watched him for a moment before starting to uncoil his lasso. "It'll take much too long for all of us to get up on just one little rope," he said. "We'll have two." He roped something on the deck and pulled it tight.

"What did you get?" Sergei wondered.

"I don't know," Pinto shrugged. "But as long as it holds, it doesn't matter a whole lot." He stepped aside to allow Lucrece to go first.

With the two ways up, everyone quickly made it to the top, and miraculously, without being spotted. But Jim was suspicious of that very thing.

"It was too easy to get up here," he frowned as he removed the hook from the metal railing. "I can't believe no one noticed, considering how many of us there are."

Arte nodded. "We've probably walked right into a THRUSH trap," he cringed. "I'd better call Lucius before something goes wrong."

"Yes, do that," Lucrece encouraged. "Find out where he is and why he isn't here."

Arte quickly dialed. After several rings the phone was picked up.

"Hello?" Lucius sounded tense and upset.

"Ah, Lucius. Is something wrong?" Arte asked in concern.

"The helicopter ran out of fuel and we had to stop to gas up," Lucius replied. "And it looks like the thing has been leaking. We're going to have to get another one."

"Oh dear," Arte frowned. "Do you think it was deliberate?"

"I'm wondering about it, but I don't see that there'd be any purpose in it. Blackburn wants to kill me in person, not from a distance." Lucius paused. "The ship's leaving about now, isn't it?"

"I'm afraid so," Arte said. "We've all stowed away on it. Well, a lot of us, anyway. Mr. Norman's group isn't here yet."

"Then we'll probably have to make an entrance that everyone will see, on the helicopter," Lucius said in annoyance. "Not that it matters. Blackburn knows I'm coming."

"We'll do what we can to hold down the fort until you get here," Arte promised.

"Thank you. See if you can find Mr. Waverly."

"We'll do our best, but I doubt he's out in the open," Arte said.

"He won't be, unless you're meant to see him," Lucius returned. "We'll be there as soon as we can." With that he hung up.

Arte sighed. "They're having helicopter problems," he reported. "They hope to be along soon. Meanwhile, we're to look for Mr. Waverly."

"We should also let Mr. Norman's group know about what's happening," Jim said.

Arte took out his pocket watch. "They're not going to have much time to get here, if they're not already on their way," he said grimly.

"We're here," Coley spoke from behind him.

Arte jumped a mile. Coley was emerging from a door on the deck. Ray and Lafe were right with him.

"Now where in the world did you all come from?" Arte exclaimed.

Ray looked sheepish. "We met with Mr. Cannon again and he managed to distract the person checking everyone's tickets long enough for us to slip past."

"Oh, I see," Arte nodded. "How do things look inside? That is, have you seen any noticeably strange characters?"

"Everything looks normal," Coley said. "As far as we can tell, it's supposed to look like a regular cruise."

"And is there any way to tell if it isn't?" Ray said in concern. "I mean, we're only going on what Florence said and what Lucius found. Florence could have lied."

"She could have," Arte agreed. "But I think now that we've caught her she'll be more worried about staying alive than anything else. And lying about Blackburn's location will mean her death if that thing goes off on schedule."

Jim nodded. "I think we can be pretty sure she's telling the truth this time. When U.N.C.L.E. gets here, they may be able to identify some of the staff."

"There may already be some U.N.C.L.E. agents here," said Ray. "They might be undercover and not seek us out."

"That's true," Arte nodded. "Well, we'd better get started on looking for Mr. Waverly."

"That won't be necessary, gentlemen and lady."

The voice was coming from above them. The group backed up in shock, craning their necks upward to see the very top of the ship. An unfamiliar figure was kneeling down, peering at them over the edge of the roof.

"Mr. Waverly is right here," the man sneered. "Oh, you can't see him yet, but I'll bring him out at just the right time."

"And that will be when Lucius—er, the other Pinto—arrives," Arte deduced.

"Exactly. Meanwhile, I'm Buddy Blackburn, your host for the evening's festivities."

"That was expected," said Jim. "I'm assuming you already know all of us."

"Mostly. Names aren't important. I know you're associated with Pinto—or Lucius, if you prefer. He'll be here."

"So will other U.N.C.L.E. agents," Arte pointed out. "Two of them are with him right now."

"I thought as much," Blackburn sighed.

"You've angered the entire organization by abducting their head," Jim said. "There could be countless other agents already here."

"I'm only interested in one." Blackburn stood up. "And the others won't dare to interfere if I threaten to kill Mr. Waverly should anyone other than Lucius approach." His sneer was visible under the moonlight. "He isn't a real U.N.C.L.E. agent, you know. He's a paid killer—_my _paid killer. Mr. Waverly only allowed him to work for U.N.C.L.E. because he wanted to bring me down so badly. He'll kick Lucius out when this is over."

"That isn't true," came Mr. Waverly's weakened and pained voice from somewhere on the roof. "He's a genuine U.N.C.L.E. agent now. And he will be free to remain with U.N.C.L.E. for as long as he pleases."

"He certainly isn't coming to save you, or stop me from blowing up the world," Blackburn smirked.

"You're wrong."

The new voice sent Blackburn spinning around. Lucius was on the roof with him, gun drawn.

"Lucius?!" Arte exclaimed in disbelief. "How did you get up there?! What about the helicopter?!"

"I said that in case anyone else was listening," Lucius said. "Although there really was trouble with the helicopter. But I got here a while ago.

"And now, Mr. Blackburn, you're about to discover what a couple of fatal mistakes you've made."


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**

Blackburn stared at Lucius for a long moment and then laughed.

"Pinto, you're looking well," he sneered. "I haven't seen you in two years. U.N.C.L.E.'s been good to you.

"But you have the audacity to climb up here and tell me _I've_ made fatal mistakes?" He chuckled under his breath. "I have your boss captive. You can see him here, lying on the roof near me. And I have the remote control that rolls back this platform and brings THRUSH's doomsday device into sight. Once it's out, there won't be anything you can do to stop its activation."

"You made a mistake by trying to play the field," Lucius said coldly. "THRUSH knows about your games with F.O.W.L. and now you have to use this device for them instead of for you."

Blackburn shrugged. "A small setback. I'll get things put right before the night is over." He half-turned, pointing his gun at Mr. Waverly's head. "Meanwhile, the first thing I want is you. Trade yourself for Mr. Waverly. And don't anyone else get any ideas of coming up here!" he snarled.

On the deck below, THRUSH agents began to emerge from the shadows to surround the annoyed and angry group.

Jim's eyes narrowed. He had known things were going too easily. But he and Arte had gotten out of tougher spots than this all by themselves, and now there were so many others fighting alongside them. He was still sure that they could—and would—win.

"Don't move," he hissed to those nearest to him. "Wait for an opening."

"Lucius . . ." On the roof, Mr. Waverly struggled to turn enough to look at his agent. He was bound as well as beaten, but he was still stubborn. And he was silently pleading for Lucius to make the right decision.

Lucius looked to him, his stomach twisting, before coldly glaring at Blackburn. "I don't want anything to happen to Mr. Waverly. But first and foremost, I'm an U.N. . agent. I do my job. And right now, my job is stopping you."

Undaunted, Blackburn brought the gun closer to Mr. Waverly. "You can shoot me, but not before I get off a round at him. Also, if you somehow manage to get me first . . ." Several THRUSH agents stepped into view. "At least one of them will make sure to get him."

"You want him alive," Lucius retorted. "You're not going to shoot him or have him shot. He's valuable to you."

"I _want_ him alive," Blackburn agreed, "but don't fool yourself into thinking he's indispensable. I can kill him just as easily as you can let him be killed."

"Do you think this is easy?" Lucius was speaking in a tone of deadly rage without ever raising his voice. A chill went up Arte's spine.

"It's always easy for a killer to kill. And you, Pinto, will never be anything but a killer. Even in U.N.C.L.E., that's all you are."

"I'm whatever I need to be." Lucius pointed his gun at Blackburn. "And right now, I need to be a killer."

At that moment, the sudden sound of a helicopter pierced the night sky. Blackburn and the other agents looked up with a collective start. On the deck, so did everyone else. Only Lucius was not surprised.

In that instant of distraction, Lucius shot the gun out of Blackburn's hand. Mr. Waverly struck out, kicking Blackburn's legs out from under him in the same moment. As the crime lord fell forward with a stunned cry, Mr. Waverly rolled out of the way, closer to the edge of the roof.

Now Jim had his opening. He struck without warning, catching the THRUSH agents on either side of him in the jaws. And then, with their grunts of pain, bedlam erupted. Everyone, from Ray to Coley to Lucrece and her gang, began to attack the THRUSH agents on the deck.

On the roof, two agents fired at Lucius. He returned fire, dodging the bullets.

From the helicopter, Napoleon leaned out, firing at two more agents. He started down the extended rope ladder, with Illya right behind him.

"I was wondering where they were!" Arte yelled over the din as he shoved a THRUSH agent backwards, grabbing for the gun at the same time.

"They and Lucius must have planned all of this very carefully!" Jim called back as he leaped over two shocked THRUSH agents grabbing for him. Pinto roped them together.

"Good for them!" Arte declared. He swung around with the high-powered rifle, clanking it into another agent's rifle.

Other THRUSH agents broke away from the group, running behind deck chairs and the nearest corner and firing into the fighting throng.

"They must not care if they hit their own people," Arte frowned as he ducked, causing the THRUSH agent next to him to be struck.

"When does their kind ever care?" Coley grunted. At least he had tried hard not to hit Lafe those years before, when he had attempted to shoot Jim. He had cursed himself when Lafe had been hit instead.

Sensing someone coming up behind him, Coley spun and fired just in time.

Ray, like Arte, was really not a fighter. But unlike Arte, who could fight if he was forced to, Ray really had no experience. He was forced to improvise, delivering a harsh chop here if he could manage it, a furious kick there, and a few shots from the gun he still illegally possessed.

"You're not doing bad at all," Coley called to him when they were close enough to see and hear each other over the din.

"I feel so out of my league," Ray admitted. "But I wasn't about to stay behind and not do my part." Nor had he been about to stay behind worrying about Coley and the others.

Coley smirked. "Of course you wouldn't."

Snakes hit an enemy agent over the head with his gun. Then, turning, he gasped as another one lunged, forcing the gun horizontally across his shoulders and upward against his throat. His eyes watering, he pressed his gun into the other's chest and pulled the trigger. The THRUSH man fell, leaving Snakes sputtering and choking for air.

Napoleon jumped onto the roof, behind the shooting, and ducked down near Mr. Waverly. "Are you alright, Sir?!" he exclaimed as he set to work untying the tight ropes.

"Quite well, thank you, Mr. Solo," Mr. Waverly returned. "Your and Mr. Kuryakin's arrival was certainly timely."

"All thanks to a little strategizing between us and Lucius," Napoleon said grandly, leaning back.

Mr. Waverly sat up, gingerly rubbing at his sore wrists. "I don't suppose anyone has succeeded in procuring the gadget meant to unleash Armageddon on the world?"

"Illya is working towards that purpose right now, I believe," said Napoleon. "With some assistance from Lucius."

By now most of the THRUSH agents on the roof had fallen. But Blackburn, still very much alive, snarled as he rose up from among the wounded and dead bodies.

"You still haven't stopped the doomsday weapon from activating," he taunted. "And I've noticed you've been avoiding hitting me in the chest. Instead you've been aiming for my head or my legs. You know, or have suspected, that I've been carrying the remote right here." He started to take it out of his suit coat pocket. "You didn't want to risk hitting it and activating it yourself."

Lucius and Illya tensed. Behind them, Napoleon started to reach for his gun.

Without warning Blackburn drew not a remote, but another gun, from inside his coat. At the same moment Napoleon fired, so did Lucius.

And so did Blackburn.

Lucrece looked up with a start from where she had shot a THRUSH agent on the deck. "No!" she screamed. Pinto, farther away and tying a couple of horrified THRUSH agents to the railing over the side of the ship, also jerked to attention.

Lucius crumpled to the roof, Blackburn's shot having found its mark at the same time as Lucius's and Napoleon's. Blackburn lingered, sneering in triumph for one dark moment, before collapsing as well.

Mr. Waverly struggled to stand, his eyes filled with stunned and sickened alarm. It certainly wasn't the first time he had seen a fellow agent shot down, nor would it be the last, but it pierced him deeply. "Lucius!" he cried.

Napoleon hurried to Lucius as quickly as he could, helping his injured commander over as well. After shooting down the last THRUSH man on the roof, Illya knelt beside Lucius, searching for signs of life and the entrance wound.

Lucius coughed, groaning as he was examined. "Someone still has the remote," he gasped, "or whatever that thing really uses to activate itself. I . . . I couldn't find it or stop it. Blackburn was . . . he was a diversion all along."

"I knew I thought it odd that THRUSH would allow him to pursue his path of vengeance on you!" Mr. Waverly fretted. "But he had me fooled as well. I was certain I saw him with the device he claimed was a remote!"

Lucius managed a weak smirk. "So he even fooled U.N.C.L.E. high command? Who'd have thought. Maybe I don't have to . . . to feel so mad about it happening to me, then."

As Illya gently turned Lucius onto his back, Mr. Waverly fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief and pressed it against the wound. "You're going to be alright, Mr. Bowen," he insisted.

Lucius's eyelids fluttered. "I always wondered what it felt like, to get shot. Now I know. Fitting."

"Lucius!" Lucrece, having climbed up to the roof herself, rushed over and fell to her knees. Pinto was right beside her.

Lucius looked up at them, his vision bleary. "Hey . . ." He reached for them, weakly, but his hand dropped onto Lucrece's lap.

She took it, her knuckles white. "You're one of us, Lucius," she said, her voice stretched taut. "We didn't just learn about you only to lose you. You're going to live."

"Of course you are," Pinto declared, but his eyes showed his worry. "You weren't going to let anything happen to us. We won't let anything happen to you, either—not if we can help it."

"Good." Lucius looked from them to Mr. Waverly. "We'll still beat THRUSH . . . won't we?" He fell limp.

Lucrece stiffened, going sheet-white. Mr. Waverly looked equally alarmed. But, refusing to think the worst, he held a hand to Lucius's throat.

"There's still a pulse, but it's weakening. Someone call for an ambulance!" he ordered. "I don't trust whatever medical help there is onboard." He bent over Lucius in spite of his own injuries, beginning a furious session of CPR.

On deck, Ray took out his phone and immediately began to dial.

Sickened, Arte looked to Jim. "Poor Lucius," he gasped. "And no remote. Jim, what do we do now?"

Jim's eyes narrowed coldly. "We find the remote."

xxxx

Lucius was still alive when the paramedics arrived to take him. Mr. Waverly, with his injuries, was asked to go with them as well. He did not want to, feeling that what had been done to him was not serious enough for hospitalization. But upon Napoleon and Illya's concerned pleas and requests, he consented.

"Don't let the world down now," he instructed as he limped off the ship, walking beside the gurney. "Don't let_ Mr. Bowen_ down. Find that blasted remote!"

"We will, Sir," Napoleon grimly vowed.

"We'll tear this ship apart, if we must," said Illya.

It wasn't long before that idea sounded less and less implausible. Everyone spread out, searching in groups of two or three, but all they seemed to find was rooms and rooms of genuinely confused and baffled people.

"Maybe they truly aren't in on it, Jim," Arte said before long.

Jim nodded. "And if they're not, they must all be some of the intended victims."

Lucrece was in a strange, shaken state, numb as she and Pinto searched one of the lower decks. He came to her when they were ready to move on, concerned as he saw her eyes.

"He'll be okay," he said quietly, drawing an arm around her shoulders.

She shook her head. "I don't even know what I'm supposed to feel," she said. "He's related to us, far in the future of our timeline. He looks only slightly younger than you. I have to keep telling myself that he's our great-great-grandson. It sounds too incredible, too unreal. And I don't know how to think of someone whom I will never meet in my life save during time-travel. If we ever, possibly do see him just from living our normal lives in the past, we will only see him as an infant, when we are both old. I don't even know how to process something like that."

Pinto kissed her. "Just leave it at he's related to us," he suggested. "He's family—someone to care about and love. Think of him as something like a brother or a nephew or a cousin if that'd make it more relatable. And I was thinking—when we get married, he ought to be there to see it."

"Invite the great-great-grandson to his great-great-grandparents' wedding," Lucrece said wryly. "Are you sure that wouldn't turn this ridiculous space-time continuum upside-down and inside-out?"

"Nope," Pinto said. "But I doubt it would. We know from that picture that we get married in this time. And since Lucius lives in this time, and is right here in Los Angeles, it seems only natural that we'd invite him."

"He'd never be well enough," Lucrece said quietly. "Not by tomorrow."

"We'll figure out something," Pinto said firmly. "But right now we'd better focus on making sure there's a decent world for Lucius to live in."

Lucrece nodded. That idea was something much easier to process.

In another part of the ship, Lafe had wandered ahead of Coley and Ray and was knocking on several stateroom doors. At any door where no one answered, he picked the lock and slipped inside to search. At doors where people did answer, he tried to pass himself off as a THRUSH agent, using an I.D. card he had taken from one of the ones he had shot. But none of the passengers appeared to know what he was talking about when he inquired about the doomsday device or mentioned Carol or Mr. Stone or any other prisoners.

"I don't know, Coley," he soon said in exasperation. "This isn't working out. And since there was all that shooting on deck, the local police are looking now too, and not having any better luck."

"There's just this one more stateroom on this level," Coley pointed out. "Do you want it or should Ray or I take it?"

Lafe sighed. "Oh, I'll try." He knocked on the door. Coley and Ray dove around the corner to wait.

A nervous woman opened the door. "What is it?" she demanded in an accented voice.

Lafe held up the pilfered THRUSH I.D. card, waiting to see her reaction.

Her eyes widened. "It's about time!" she snapped. "We have to do something about the device immediately. The police are everywhere!"

Coley started to smirk in triumph. "Pay dirt," he said to Ray.

Ray looked both hopeful and tense.

Lafe tried to conceal his surprise. "Well, what do you want to do?" he retorted. "Set it off ahead of schedule?"

"Yes!" she nodded. "The submarine is ready and waiting for us and the others to get aboard. We should leave right now."

A thump came from somewhere in the room. "No!" a vaguely familiar woman screamed. "You can't leave us here to die!"

Lafe's eyes widened. _Carol._ "What about her?" he asked, hoping she wouldn't hear his voice and end up blowing his cover.

"She and her policemen friends and Stone can just stay here until detonation time," the female THRUSH agent said boredly. "They're all supposed to die anyway; they know too much." She opened the door wider and stepped into the hall with her purse. "Let's get going."

"Wait a minute!" Lafe exclaimed. "If we're setting it off ahead of schedule, don't we need to tell somebody? And who has the remote, anyway? I could have sworn Blackburn had it, but he must've passed it on to someone else."

The woman stopped walking and went rigid. "Who are you?" she demanded.

"Huh?" Lafe blinked. "I showed you my card. . . ."

"Blackburn never had it, and all of THRUSH knows it." She started to reach into her purse. "I have only to make a call and any one of eight loyal agents can activate the device from anywhere in the ship."

Lafe lunged, knocking the purse out of her hands before she could go for a gun. Coley and Ray ran out, snatching her arms before she could either grab for it or flee. She snarled, fighting against them.

"What is this?!" she cried. "None of you are THRUSH. You're all the enemy!"

"You've got that right," Coley grunted. "Lafe, get the purse!"

Lafe picked it up and opened it, pawing through the contents. Other than a gun and a communicator, the bag was empty. "Are you saying there's eight remotes?!" he exclaimed in horror.

She glowered at him from where she was being restrained. "Yes," she sneered. "Eight remotes. And I'm sure by now the agents holding them all realize that our Armageddon must begin earlier than planned."

"Now that you're our prisoner, you'll die with us if you don't help us stop it!" Ray declared. "Tell us who all has the remotes."

"Tracking down all of them would be a wild goose chase," the THRUSH agent retorted. "What you need to do is smash or otherwise destroy the control panel when the device rises from the secret compartment on the roof. Only that will stop its activation for certain."

"Fine," Coley growled. "Then we'll do that."

"You'll never be able to climb up to it," she said grudgingly. "Agents will be everywhere."

"Then we'll throw bombs at it," Ray said, even as he was wondering where they would get bombs on such short notice.

"You'll have to make sure you only hit the control panel and not the device itself," the agent warned. "Hitting anything other than the control panel will still activate Armageddon."

Ray cringed. Coley looked equally displeased, but undaunted. "We'll do what we have to," he said.

Lafe was hurrying past them into the room. "Hey!" he called. "Carol? We can get you and these other people out of here now. But we have to hurry—they're going to try to blow everything up any minute."

For a moment there was silence. "Who's there?" Carol asked weakly.

"That's one of those people from the golf club," Mr. Stone said, also sounding weak and pained. "I recognize his voice."

Lafe ran over to the wall, where the voices were coming from. "How do I open this thing?" he called.

"Push upward on the left side," Mr. Stone mumbled.

Lafe did so, and the wall swung open. Beyond it, in a cramped room, were the missing people.

Carol looked up, helplessly bound on the floor. "You!" she gasped. "Oh, I thought you were dead." Tears of relief pricked her eyes.

"We're all going to be dead if we don't get out of here," Lafe said urgently, bending down to untie her and the others.

"What about my wife?" Mr. Stone asked. "They're saying she's dead."

"She's not," Lafe assured him. "That Norman guy keeps calling the hospital to make sure. She's getting better."

Mr. Stone closed his eyes. "Thank God."

"Can you walk?" Lafe asked, looking from him to Carol and the policemen.

"I think so," Mr. Stone said. "If it's not far."

"It's not too close," Lafe admitted.

He was in the process of helping all of them limp towards the door, where Coley and Ray were tying up their prisoner, when the P.A. system suddenly came to life.

"_Attention, all THRUSH personnel, all passengers, and all unwelcome visitors._

"_By now you are surely aware of the battle on deck. An U.N.C.L.E. agent has been shot. The local police, U.N.C.L.E., and even civilian vigilantes are swarming all over the ship, seeking to stop THRUSH's plot._

"_But we will not be stopped! In exactly ten minutes, this ship will herald in the destruction of the world as we know it. From now on, THRUSH will rule supreme. There are still limited places on our submarines if you choose to align with THRUSH and live. Otherwise, you will die._

"_Oh, and Merry Christmas!"_

Sirens and alarms began to go off up and down the halls, the overhead lights flashing red. Doors flew open and people ran out, panicked and screaming.

Coley's lip curled. "We have to get on deck now," he yelled over the noise. "Ray, quick—call Gordon or someone. Tell him what we were told about the control panel and the guards around the thing."

Ray nodded, frantic as he got out his phone. "We might not have time to get up there," he said, "especially with all of these poor people. Maybe some of the others are closer."

"We can hope they are," Coley grunted as Ray started dialing and everyone kept walking. "And you'd better start praying."

"I am," Ray asserted, as they struggled to keep their balance in the growing, entangling mob. "And I have no intention of stopping."

xxxx

Arte's stomach was in knots as he took Ray's call. Jim, listening via speakerphone, was equally grim.

"How many mini-grenades do you have?" Arte asked.

"Enough for ten control panels," Jim replied. "But they're so small that they're too unpredictable when thrown from a long distance. If we can't get past those guards, we're going to need something bigger and heavier. We're not going to have the time to fight them."

Arte cringed. "That's what I was afraid of."

"Mr. Gordon?" Ray's voice came through the phone again, along with the screaming people in the background. "Is there any way you could build a bomb in less than ten minutes?"

Arte's stomach knotted even more. "It would be crude, but I might be able to come up with something," he said. "And it would go even faster with two." He looked to Snakes.

Snakes pointed at himself in stunned shock. "Me?"

"You're an expert," Arte replied.

"Yeah, but in less than ten minutes . . . !" Snakes shook his head in disbelief. "It just can't be done."

"Well, it's going to have to be!" Arte snapped. "Now, come on. Help me find what we're going to need." He took Snakes' arm, starting to drag him down the hall.

Jim trailed after them. The entire world's fate most likely depended on the success of this bomb. But he would go topside and see just how many guards there were to face. Maybe there would be so many that at least one of them would be able to shoot down any bomb that was launched, no matter how large of an attack Jim and the others could unleash.

His eyes narrowed. He would not believe that there was no hope. He would never believe that. If he gave up, that was when THRUSH or some other enemy would win.

xxxx

The ten minutes were passing agonizingly fast. While Arte and Snakes struggled to tear apart several electronic devices to gather enough pieces for a crude bomb, Coley, Ray, and Lafe were trying to help the former prisoners—and their current THRUSH prisoner—get to the top deck. And the panicking people almost bowling them over were not making it easy.

"I've got a good mind to smack some of these people across the face," Coley growled. "They need a talking-to. If they're not all mowing each other down trying to find the nearest THRUSH agent and swear allegiance, they're trying to get off the ship altogether, and that's not going to save them."

"And if they deter us much longer, they may only ensure THRUSH's success!" Ray exclaimed. "THRUSH was counting on a panic like this!"

"Oh yeah." Coley set his jaw and pulled down his hat, forcing his way ahead and pushing the bound THRUSH agent ahead of him.

On the top deck, Jim arrived around the same time Lucrece's gang was reconvening. They stared at the guards, standing shoulder-to-shoulder all the way around the bridge underneath the roof. Each guard held a rifle, pointing it threateningly at anyone who dared to come close.

On the roof itself, a strange whirring of gears made them look up. The normal roof had split in two pieces, each piece rising and turning over to make way for the platform that had been hidden in the bridge underneath. A bizarre machine, somewhat resembling a mammoth ray gun, was emerging into the moonlight.

"_That's_ what they're gonna use to blow up the whole world?" Pinto said in disbelief. "Looks more like it could only send a beam on up into the sky."

"Let's hope that isn't exactly what they're planning to use it for," said Napoleon as he appeared behind Pinto.

"And perhaps try to bring down a celestial body with its force," Illya added.

"Are they really that nuts?" Pinto asked as he turned to look at them.

"Sometimes I think I wouldn't put anything past them," Napoleon declared.

"We'd capsize and the celestial body would stay right up in the sky," Pinto retorted in disbelief. "If that's their plan, they're just plain stupid to try to make it work on a ship!"

"Perhaps they have something else in mind," said Illya. "I'm afraid we may know within a few minutes."

Pinto frowned. ". . . Say, you haven't heard any news about Lucius, have you?"

"Not yet," Napoleon said quietly. "I believe they have him in surgery now."

Pinto shook his head. "What a place to be if the whole world kicks the bucket."

"Alright," Jim spoke suddenly. "We're going to have to draw the guards' attention to us. Arte and Snakes are building a bomb to blow up the control panel, which is the only sure way to stop this thing from activating." He looked to the huge and bright red numbers on the side of the ray gun, counting down their last six minutes.

"Snakes?" Lucrece said in derision. "You're entrusting the fate of the world to him?"

"If there's one thing Snakes wants, it's to live," Jim said flatly.

"Yes, so what's to stop him from murdering Mr. Gordon and joining THRUSH?" Lucrece returned. "His life would be assured then."

Jim did not want to admit that the thought _had_ occurred to him. "If he's done that, he'll regret it," he vowed. "But nevermind Snakes. Focus on distracting the guards."

"If it's distractions you want, you will get them!" Cyril said gleefully. He held up a match, his eyes and grin wild as he threatened to drop it on the deck.

Instantly the nearest guards came to attention. As they moved to shoot, Pinto lassoed their rifles away. Brutus lunged, delivering his signature bone-crushing punches. The guards fell, clutching their jaws in pain.

"Go!" Jim yelled to the others as he ran ahead, into the fray. The rest of the gang was right behind him, spreading out amongst the guards.

Arriving on the top deck at last, Coley and his group stared at the mass confusion. "Let's hand these people off to the cops and join in," Coley suggested.

Ray nodded, taking a deep breath. ". . . In case this is our last few minutes on Earth, I just want to thank you, Coley. For everything."

Coley looked at him in surprise for a moment. Then, laying a hand on Ray's shoulder, he pushed his friend forward. "We're going to have more time," he said. "But I should thank you, too—for showing me a new life."

Ray smiled.

Arte and Snakes rushed onto the top deck from another path, with only two minutes to spare. Between them they carried the only bomb they had managed to construct. They stood, staring at the hysteria all around them.

"Holy Mackerel," Arte breathed, seeing the weapon. Then, spotting the control panel, he hurried forward. "Come on!" he called. "I see it!"

Snakes' stomach was turning in knots. Something was wrong; he was sure of it. And even as he and Arte managed to hurl the bomb upward, directly at the control panel, the feeling did not lessen.

_This isn't going to work. It's going to go off anyway. We're all going to die._

They hit the deck as the bomb made contact.

The explosion rocked the entire ship. New screams mixed with the old as debris rained in every direction.

After a moment Snakes dared to look up. The control panel was gone, sizzling and smoking from the hit. For the briefest second he allowed himself to hope, to believe that his ill feeling was wrong. But then the countdown started anew, vocally, from another part of the device.

"_One minute thirty seconds and counting,"_ the mechanical voice intoned.

Arte jerked up in horror. "What's going on?!" he cried. "It's going anyway! Did that THRUSH agent lie to Mr. Norman and Coley?!"

"No," Snakes retorted as he got to his feet, "but she didn't tell the whole truth."

Not explaining himself, he ran ahead, grabbing a fallen semi-automatic rifle from one of the THRUSH guards. He slung it over his shoulder as he took hold of a chair. Leaping onto a table, he set the chair down, climbed onto it, and then jumped for the edge of the roof, only barely catching it as the chair gave way under him.

Jim, Arte, and Coley gave chase. "Snakes!" Arte yelled. "What do you think you're doing?!"

"You know as well as I do there has to be a back-up control panel!" Snakes yelled back.

Arte looked to Jim in sickened horror. "I had thought of it," he confessed, "but I was praying THRUSH would be arrogant enough to think that just one would suffice. We could only make one bomb."

"Snakes might not find the back-up in time," Jim said darkly. "But it looks like we're going to have to buy him the only time we've got so he can look for it." He indicated several THRUSH agents, who were all rushing towards the roof in pursuit of Snakes.

"What's the matter with these people?" Arte exclaimed. "Do they really believe so strongly in their corrupt cause that they're willing to die for it?"

Jim fired at the closest THRUSH agent, who fell to the deck. "It seems like every corrupt cause has people like that," he remarked.

Lucrece and her gang, as well as Ray, Lafe, Frank Cannon, and the U.N.C.L.E. agents, came to the Secret Service men and Coley's aid. The final battle was a confused mess of flying bullets, dodging, and praying.

On the roof, Snakes ducked another bullet, his hands shaking as he clutched the rifle. It would only take a bullet fired right into the ray gun itself to set it off, if the THRUSH agent had been telling the truth about that. And then they would all be dead, here and now.

"How did this happen?" he berated himself as he searched desperately around the perimeter of the thing for the other counter. "How did I end up putting my life on the line to find a needle in a haystack?!"

They would all die if he didn't. But even if he found it, and destroyed it, would he live himself?

"_Twenty seconds and counting."_

"Oh, shut up," Snakes muttered.

The annoying voice wasn't any louder than before. He had been trying to follow it over the sound of the battle below, but it seemed hopeless.

"_Nineteen seconds."_

He ran around the other side. He had been on all sides now, without finding a single clue. What was left?

"Oh Lordy," he whispered. He craned his neck upward. It had to be on top.

Shouldering the rifle again, he drew a deep breath and grabbed the device, beginning the climb. He was shaking so much and his palms were so slippery he could barely hold on. But somehow, he kept going.

"_Ten seconds."_

He reached the top and pulled himself up. Yes, now he was looking at the counter. It was smirking back at him as the last seconds whittled away.

"_Seven seconds."_

He took down the rifle and gripped it, whispering a prayer under his breath.

When he destroyed the counter, it would probably explode. He would be thrown clear and most likely fall and die.

Exactly what he had been fighting against all this time.

_I was brave once, in the war, _he told himself._ I can be brave again._

_And Pinto won't be there, this time._

_Maybe . . . without him there . . . death won't be too bad._

Gritting his teeth, he fired into the center of the counter.

"_Two sec- . . ."_

The thing stopped, sparking, and exploded in a beautiful and horrible burst of light and color.

The rifle fell from Snakes' hands as he was pushed off of the now-useless Armageddon device, screaming in fear and pain as the flames enveloped him.

The fall was only seconds, but it was endless.

Then, it did end.

There was water and there was nothingness.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty-One**

Arte went sheet-white as soon as he realized that Snakes was climbing the machine. "Snakes, you're going to get killed!" he yelled.

Snakes either didn't hear or was ignoring Arte, because he kept going and didn't answer.

Arte gripped his gun, shooting another THRUSH agent attempting to gun down Snakes before he could reach the top.

Pinto paused during a break in the mayhem to look up, shielding his eyes. "What does he think he's doing?" he exclaimed. "Has he gone crazy?! Is he going to put a bullet in the thing and cause it to go off for sure?"

Arte shook his head. "No. He must think the back-up control panel is on top."

"He'll never survive blowing it out," Pinto frowned.

"I think he knows that," Arte said somberly.

Snakes stumbled to his footing on the top and stood, trembling, pointing his gun at something on the doomsday device.

"He won't do it," Pinto objected. "He _can't_ do it. He knows he'll get it and he can't bear to do anything that he already knows will take his life."

Snakes shot out the back-up control panel in the next instant. And the explosion took him, sending him flying off the device in flames and careening towards the water.

His scream was burning in Arte's ears even before he hit the water and was silenced. "Snakes!" Arte yelled, running to the railing and gripping it as he looked over the side. Snakes had already gone down, in unconsciousness or death. He was certainly not coming back up.

Jim sprang into action without another thought, diving over the railing and into the water.

Coley swore, pushing up his hat as he also came over to look. "There's no way he's still alive," he said. "West is going after a corpse."

"Maybe he is," Arte agreed, "but we can't leave him down there even if he's dead."

Lucrece frowned, coming over to look as well. "I can't believe Snakes did that," she said.

Before Arte could respond, Jim emerged from the chilled waters, gasping and choking, and then went down again.

"He can't find him," Ray worried. "And he might die himself if he stays down there too long."

Arte gripped the railing tighter. Maybe he should jump in too. Jim could use the help. So might Snakes. If two people were looking for him, one of them might find him before . . .

Arte was getting ready to leap off the ship when Jim came to the surface again, this time clutching a lifeless body with one arm. Arte snapped to, looking for something, anything, that could be used to get them back up.

"Pinto, help them!" he ordered. "Send your lasso down and pull them up!"

"Hey, I can only bring up one at a time," Pinto exclaimed.

"Fine!" Arte shot back. "Then that's how we'll do it."

Not arguing further, Pinto tossed the rope over the edge. Jim caught the loop, somehow managing to get it under Snakes' arms. "Pull him up!" he yelled.

Pinto pulled, going as carefully as he could. When Snakes was in grabbing distance, Arte and Coley moved together to lift him over the railing and lay him on the deck. Coley unwound the rope while Arte bent down, checking for life.

"He must have swallowed half the ocean," Arte muttered. He pressed on Snakes' chest, trying to get him to cough it up.

Not commenting again on the futility of it, Pinto sent the rope back down for Jim. Jim caught it, hooking the loop around himself and gripping the rope above as he began to use it for leverage to walk up the side of the ship.

Pinto gritted his teeth, planting his feet as he kept holding onto the rope. If he let go, Jim would fall back into the water. And while that prospect might have been tempting in a different fight, this time he didn't give in to it.

"Thanks," Jim said as he reached the top. He jumped down and went to Arte. "How is he?"

Arte shook his head. "I can't find anything, Jim," he said grimly. "Maybe if I could get the water out of his lungs he'd revive, but I don't know. He went down in flames." He eyed the torn and tattered clothing and the cut and burned skin.

"The fire was extinguished when he hit the water," Jim said. "It doesn't look like it got to him too badly. Let me take over for a minute, Arte."

"Jim, you're soaking wet," Arte objected. "You need to go inside and get warmed up."

But Jim, as usual, wasn't listening. Sighing, Arte got to his feet, gazing blankly and without hope as Jim examined Snakes. Sensing Lucrece approaching from the side, Arte looked to her.

"He's surely dead, Miss Posey," he said grimly. "Are you satisfied now?"

"I didn't have anything to do with his death," Lucrece said.

"Oh yes, you did." Arte looked around at everyone who had gathered on the deck. "We all did, because he sacrificed himself for us."

Lucrece frowned, thinking on that. "I wouldn't have believed I'd ever owe my existence to the likes of Snakes Tolliver," she said.

Pinto nodded in agreement. "He was too much of a selfish coward to put his life on the line for anyone," he said.

"But he did," Jim replied flatly.

"Sometimes, anyone can surprise you," Arte said, "even a battered and scarred old villain like Snakes."

Frowning in deep concentration, Jim suddenly struck out, pounding on Snakes' chest one final, furious time.

Snakes jerked, coughing, and rolled onto his side, water spilling from his mouth. Groaning and shuddering as it abated, he slumped onto his back, staring upward into the sky.

"St. Peter?" he mumbled. Although his voice was naturally filled with gravel in general, right now it was much moreso.

Jim leaned into his line of vision. "No," he said. "Just me."

Arte dropped down besides them. "Snakes! You're alive after all!" he exclaimed. He sobered. "And none of us would be alive, if it hadn't been for what you did."

Snakes looked blearily at him, seeming dazed, embarrassed, and pleased all at once. "Everyone made it out?"

"We're all here," Jim told him.

Arte shook his head, reaching to accept some blankets that Ray had managed to find. He draped one over Snakes and the other around Jim's shoulders. "I must say, you're spending half your life getting caught in explosions lately," he said to Snakes.

"Seems like it," Snakes agreed, shivering and burrowing into the blanket.

"At least this time it was for the right reasons." Arte laid a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, for your quick thinking and acting on it."

"Thanks for keeping the THRUSH agents off my back," Snakes slurred. "And fishing me out when I fell." He looked to Jim. "Why did you even try? You knew I was probably done for."

"I knew you _probably_ were," Jim agreed. "I didn't know you _were._ That's why I went in—just in case we could still save you."

Arte looked to Lucrece, who was still standing by and looked as though she wasn't sure what to make of any of this. "Well, Miss Posey?" he asked. "Do you still want to take your revenge on him?"

Snakes tensed, fear in his eyes.

Lucrece frowned, studying her drenched and wounded enemy. "No," she said at last.

Snakes breathed a sigh of relief.

"As long as he doesn't try to come after us any more," Lucrece was quick to add.

"I won't," Snakes said. "I promise I won't."

Arte smiled. "And this time, I'm sure we can believe him."

xxxx

The hospital was never one of Arte's favorite places to be. And Lucrece, pacing around the opposite side of the waiting room, looked restless and unhappy as well. Pinto watched her while leaning against the wall and gathering his lasso in his hands, talking with her now and then.

Sergei had discovered the wonder of the vending machine and could not leave it alone. Even Cyril seemed fascinated with it, but mostly because he liked pressing all the buttons. Sergei let him do that while he collected the winnings.

Lucrece shook her head in disbelief. "They're going to use up all of the leftover telephone change on that machine," she said.

"Well . . ." Pinto shrugged. "They didn't have any dinner, after all. And for Sergei, that was a pretty big sacrifice."

Lucrece smirked a bit. "You're awfully empathetic tonight."

"Actually, I'm just getting a kick out of watching them work that thing," Pinto smirked more.

Mr. Waverly was sitting off to the side on a couch, with his wife. He was well enough that he could go home, but he wanted to wait for news of Lucius. And Mrs. Waverly, just so overjoyed that her husband was alive and safe, was waiting with him.

Napoleon and Illya were there as well, tense but trying to reassure each other and themselves.

"Lucius will be alright," Illya said presently. "Now that the danger has passed and Mr. Waverly is safe, he will probably return to his usual teasing self."

Napoleon nodded. "Hmm." He looked back to Illya. "I never should have said what I did in the helicopter, you know. About whether or not Lucius truly cared about Mr. Waverly. I suppose I've never quite known what to make of him. You didn't either, at first, but you seemed to adjust before long."

Illya shrugged. "I suppose I saw in his deadly efficiency and adherence to duty something I could understand. Or perhaps I started to notice a change in him over time. U.N.C.L.E. is not just another job to him, not now. He is completely loyal to us and to Mr. Waverly."

"Yes," Napoleon agreed. "Yes, he is."

Ray was trying to sit, but he was restless and kept getting up. He had finally been allowed to see Mrs. Stone for a moment, and to tell her that her husband was safe, and he had left them reuniting. Now he was waiting with the others for news of the other injured people. He and Coley conversed now and then, and sometimes with Lafe, as the minutes wore on.

Jim wandered out of one of the exam rooms, his hair still half-damp. Arte perked up, going over to him. "Well?" he queried. "I gather you're doing alright, save for perhaps being a little chilly?"

Jim nodded. "There's nothing wrong with me that a warm fire won't fix."

"And Snakes?"

Jim paused. "It's mostly his clothes that were badly damaged from the flames," he said, "but some of the fire did reach him and a couple of the burns are worse than the others. Not to mention he's chilled from the fall and has a slight headache. Overall, however, he's going to be okay."

"Oh, that's good." Arte smiled. "Maybe he can finally get his life straightened out. I never thought it would be possible for him."

"I don't think any of us did." Jim glanced around the room. "I take it there's been no word on Lucius."

"Not since we've been here," Arte replied. ". . . Or maybe I'm speaking too soon." He indicated a doctor stepping into the waiting room.

Mr. Waverly, recognizing him as the physician who had been in charge of the operation, started to get up. "Doctor, how is Mr. Bowen?" He wanted to feel hopeful, and he did, somewhat, but he was also apprehensive and fearful. So many times he had been in this situation and had been handed grave news about a fallen agent.

The doctor looked to him and then to Lucrece and Pinto, who were also coming over. "He's a stubborn man," he said. "I think I can be confident in saying he'll make a full recovery." He shook his head with a bit of a smile. "He's already half-awake."

Everyone collectively relaxed. "May we see him?" Mr. Waverly requested.

"He's already asked to see you, too," the physician replied. "I wouldn't advise staying too long, but yes, you may see him for a few minutes." He started down the hall, expecting some of them to follow.

Mr. Waverly, Lucrece, and Pinto did. The others lingered behind, not wanting to overwhelm him and feeling that the others should be the ones to go first.

The doctor arrived at the room and pushed the door open. Lucius looked up, still half-awake, and gave a tired smirk. "What's up, Doc?"

Mr. Waverly shook his head and smiled in relieved amusement. Yes, Lucius would be fine.

"I've brought some of your friends to see you," the doctor told him. "But you mustn't visit for long, Mr. Bowen. You need to get some proper rest."

"I'll do that." Lucius raised a hand just slightly off the bed. "Come on in."

Pinto looked to Mr. Waverly. "You go ahead," he said. "We'll talk to him after you're done."

Lucrece nodded in agreement. She would rather have a private conversation with their . . . relation.

Mr. Waverly glanced at them for a moment. "Alright, then," he said, going into the room. "Mr. Bowen, I'm glad to see you're recuperating."

Lucius relaxed into the pillows. "You too," he said. "I didn't think you'd be up and around already."

"Oh, they didn't injure me that seriously. You were far worse off."

"No arguments there." Lucius poked the pajamas he was wearing. "Thanks, by the way, for seeing to it that they didn't put me in one of those gowns."

"After your behavior when we first became acquainted, absolutely refusing to wear the gown once you were transported to U.N.C.L.E. headquarters, I was afraid you might disrobe and struggle out of bed to find something else to wear if I left the matter alone."

Lucius considered that and thoughtfully nodded. "Yeah, I might've done that. Or tried to. I hate those things."

Sobering, Mr. Waverly came closer and placed his hands on the metal railing. "Tell me something, Mr. Bowen. If someone approached you from an organization such as THRUSH and offered you a better monetary deal to work for them and eliminate me, would you take it?"

"No," Lucius answered almost instantly. Quieter he added, "It was hard enough knowing that doing my duty as an U.N.C.L.E. agent meant that I might have to let you get killed."

Mr. Waverly looked satisfied. "Then we've made some progress," he said. "Your attitude has changed over the two years you've worked for U.N.C.L.E."

"Yeah," Lucius agreed. "I guess it has at that."

Out in the hall, Lucrece and Pinto waited for their turn. Pinto held her close. "See, I told you he'd be alright," he said.

"You were worried too," Lucrece replied, settling into his embrace.

"Yeah, I was. But I was sure he wouldn't die." Pinto frowned. "Although I'm not sure why."

"Perhaps because you're so convinced that he will attend the wedding."

"Maybe." Pinto glanced at a clock. "Oh, and speaking of that . . ." He kissed her. "It's after midnight."

Lucrece returned it. "And I think I've discovered a way that Lucius _could_ attend the wedding if we have it today after all."

"Oh yeah?"

"The hospital chapel. If we inquire, and explain part of our reasons, they may allow us to have a small ceremony in there. Lucius could be brought in on his hospital bed."

Pinto smiled. "I like your thinking."

Lucrece smiled too. "I thought you would."

It wasn't long afterwards when Mr. Waverly stepped out of the room, seeming quite at peace. "You're free to go in now," he said to them. "He's getting along very well, particularly considering his injuries."

"Good to hear," Pinto said. "Thanks."

They walked inside and over to the bed. "How are you?" Lucrece asked.

"Not bad," Lucius said. "Mr. Waverly told me THRUSH was stopped. But I guess that goes without saying." He nodded towards the clock on the nightstand.

"Yes." Lucrece rested a hand on the railing. "What you may not believe so easily is that it was Snakes who delivered the final blow."

"Snakes?" Lucius raised an eyebrow.

"And he almost got himself killed in the process."

Pinto nodded. "We had a board meeting . . . decided to leave him alone now, as long as he doesn't come gunning for us any more."

Lucius shook his head. "It's strange to think about. I've grown up all my life with tales of what a coward Snakes is . . . was . . ." He looked to them. "I loathed him before I ever met him, because I knew he'd tried to kill you."

He frowned. "Funny thing. I knew about his and your restorations to life, Pinto. . . . I _had_ to know about them, or I wouldn't have been born to this family. And I knew about the explosion on Mt. San Antonio. But I never heard about any of what happened tonight."

"Maybe we just didn't talk about it in the past," Pinto suggested. "And maybe Snakes stays here instead of going back, so he wouldn't be talking through history, either."

"If we mentioned the one, it seems we might have mentioned the other," Lucrece mused. "Maybe you're simply missing a page in your history book." She paused. "Actually, what _is_ this history book?"

"It's notes and scraps of paper that you wrote on, mostly," Lucius said. "While the explosion is mentioned, it's not mentioned that it happened in 2012." He frowned. "I think a lot of it _is_ missing. I always hoped to find the whole thing."

"I'd like to see them," Lucrece said. "And yet in another way I suppose I'm not sure I want to know any of what will happen to us in the future."

"For the most part, you have a good life together," Lucius assured her and Pinto. He paused. "Are you . . . going to get married today?"

"That's the plan," said Pinto. "And you're invited."

"Me?" Lucius stared, stunned and awed.

"Of course," Lucrece said. "We thought of seeing whether we'd be allowed to have it in the hospital chapel, so you could come."

Lucius was moved. "Thank you," he breathed. "I never thought I'd . . ." He shook his head, overcome. "Thank you."

Pinto looked thoughtful. "You know, I bet if we go see that chapel, we'll find that it looks just like the background of that picture of yours."

"Then that would mean that everything has happened as it was meant to," Lucrece mused.

"Yep. Time-travel is confusing stuff." Pinto glanced at the clock too. "Well, I guess we'd better let you rest, especially if we're gonna try to see if they'll let you come to the wedding."

Lucius smirked. "Yeah. Oh." He reached for them once more. "Just one thing I'd like to tell you about your future. My great-grandfather talked about his parents sometimes taking him to another world. He was still alive when I was a kid and I'd sit and listen to him. He never could figure out where he'd been; it was fuzzy in his mind, he said. But he always insisted he'd really been somewhere. When I grew up, I thought he'd made it all up as an entertaining story. Now . . ." He looked to his shocked audience. "Now I know he was talking about the future. You brought him here."

". . . Then we do continue coming back," Lucrece said in amazement. "We don't go back to the past to stay."

"We're part of two worlds," Pinto decided. "We couldn't just up and forget that."

"You didn't and you wouldn't," Lucius said. "You'll always be part of both worlds now." He smiled. "And I hope I will be, too."

"Of course." Lucrece looked at him firmly. "You always will be."

xxxx

Arte had decided to pay a visit to Snakes. He wandered down the hall, following Jim's directions until he reached a room with the right number. He gave a quiet knock, in case Snakes had dozed off. But after a slight pause, he heard a surprised response. "Come in."

Arte opened the door. Snakes was sitting up in the bed, wearing a modern T-shirt and shorts and glancing towards the window. He turned once the door opened, regarding Arte in further surprise. "I wasn't expecting any visitors," he said.

"Well, I wanted to see how you were doing," Arte said.

Snakes shrugged. "I'm okay. I'm kind of surprised about that, too. I really thought I was finished."

"And thank goodness you weren't." Arte stepped a bit closer, turning his hat around in his hands.

Snakes was silent for a moment. "It's funny to hear anyone so glad that I'm alive. I never really had that before."

"Never?" Arte frowned.

"Nah. I made a mess of my life pretty much from the beginning. Nobody ever had a reason to think I was worth caring about."

Arte frowned more. Coley had felt the love of a mother throughout his life. Even when things had been at their worst, he had known that she still loved him.

"What about family?" Arte asked at last.

"There was that. But they were dead before I was old enough to really remember it," Snakes shrugged. "Then it was off to the orphanage. I hated that place. When the war started up, I used it as an excuse to run away and lie about my age to get in."

"I think a lot of boys on both sides did that," Arte remarked, "although probably not for the same reasons as you did."

Snakes nodded. "It wasn't really my war," he mused. "I just wanted somewhere else to be. But I never liked having to answer to anyone, so it wasn't long before I really wanted out of there." He smirked darkly. "Rodman told me I'm a yo-yo; that I can't hang around anywhere long without wanting out because of thinking I see something better. I guess he was right."

"A war is a terrible place to be, though," Arte said quietly, understanding.

"And by the time it was over, I came out with this." Snakes ran his hand over the scar on his face. "I already didn't have the greatest voice to listen to. I know it sounds like Southern rocks going down a hill. And with this too, well . . ." He laughed. "I'm sure you get that most of the women stayed pretty far away from me. The only ones who didn't care seemed to be the ones who liked my money and my gambling luck."

"And then you met Miss Posey," Arte remarked.

"That was after I'd been on the riverboats a while. She and Pinto were scouting for regional leaders and they found me because of my skills with explosives. I went with them for a while but soon wanted out of there, too. Rinse and repeat." Snakes shook his head. "See what I mean, Gordon? I've made a pretty pathetic mess out of my life. There's not much chance that'll change, even now. I'm too stuck in my ways."

"Oh, I don't know about that." Arte watched him carefully. "After tonight, I would say you've taken a definite step on the right path."

"I don't even know why I did what I did tonight. Or why I've been sitting here telling you all this stuff." Snakes frowned. "It must be that drug they gave me to dull the pain."

Arte half-smiled. "That could be." _Or maybe you just wanted a listening ear and never felt you had one before, _he thought to himself.

It was strange, how he could carry on this relatively normal conversation with Snakes, just as he had done weeks earlier with Coley. He had to wonder if he would have been as amiable with Snakes if he had not already had those experiences with Coley.

"Do you have any thoughts on what you might do with your life now?" he spoke again.

"I just want to get out of here," Snakes mumbled.

Arte smirked. "I can't blame you there. I suppose they want you to stay overnight, at least?"

"Something like that." Snakes looked to Arte. "I don't think I'll try to go up to Canada."

Arte nodded thoughtfully. "Do you want to come back with us?"

"To the past?"

Arte nodded. "It's still our home, even though we like to visit here. There's no active warrant out on you in the past, since you . . . well, were dead for three years."

Snakes smirked a bit but then sobered. "I think I'd rather try to make a life for myself here. I never gave myself much chance to enjoy it, since I was always focused on keeping everybody from killing me. I'm going to try to get past those feelings now."

"Are you going to stay in Los Angeles then?"

"Probably." Snakes paused. "The only time I really seemed to be doing alright was when I wasn't working for anyone else and I went around as a professional gambler. Maybe I'll try that again."

"Aha. Honest gambling, I hope."

Snakes smirked again. "Not always in the past. But now, yeah, I think I'll try it and see how long it lasts. If I'm going to make a fresh start, I guess that's a good way to get it rolling."

"Good. With any luck, you'll be able to stick with it." Arte started to move towards the door. "It's late; I'd better let you get some sleep. And don't you think you should get under the covers? What you're wearing looks awfully chilly, especially after your experience."

"I was pretty cold for a while," Snakes admitted, "but I've warmed up now." He eyed one of the bandages disdainfully. "Some of me warmed up too much."

"It could have been a lot worse," Arte said. "You got off easy." He paused. "Although for all you knew, you were giving up everything."

"Don't I know it. I still don't know what even made me go up there."

"You realized the problem first," Arte said. "And you were the first to spring into action. Not a moment too soon, I may add. There were only two seconds left when you destroyed the back-up counter."

"I didn't think I still had it in me."

"So you surprised yourself as well as everyone else. But it was, I hope, a good surprise."

"I'm not sure I'm glad to know I'll die if I have to," Snakes said wryly. "But I like knowing that I'm not a spineless coward clean through." He laid back. "I think I will sleep for a while."

"You've earned it," Arte declared. "Oh, by the way, just for my own curiosity . . ." He paused. "What's your name? Your real name, that is."

Snakes opened one eye and looked over at him in a bit of surprise. "Samuel."

"Then, goodnight, Samuel," Arte said, putting on his hat and heading for the door.

"Goodnight, Gordon," Snakes mumbled as he pulled up the blanket.

xxxx

In the waiting room, Lafe looked over as Ray answered his ringing cellphone. "Hello?" He was trying to keep his voice low, so as not to disturb anyone else in the room. "Yes, Mrs. Featherstone, we're all fine. Yes, the others are going to be fine, too. We'll be coming home soon now."

In spite of Ray trying to speak quietly, Mrs. Featherstone's voice blared out loud enough for both Coley and Lafe to hear. "Oh, that's wonderful!" she chirped. "You'll tell Jane, won't you? She's been waiting up for you."

Ray looked a bit strange. "Tell . . . Jane? You mean on the phone?"

Coley stared.

"Of course!" Mrs. Featherstone said. "Just a minute." There was a brief pause. "Here, Jane. Say hello!"

A very audible meow came through the phone.

Ray went bright red. Everyone in the waiting room had turned to look—not only Jim and Posey's gang, but also complete strangers.

"Hello, Jane," he said awkwardly, still trying to be quiet.

"Mr. Rodman, are you there too?" Mrs. Featherstone called.

". . . Yeah," Coley said. "Hey, Jane."

Another meow, followed by loud purring and what sounded like rubbing against the phone.

Lafe was gawking at them both.

"Oh, we're so glad you're alright," Mrs. Featherstone declared. "Do get home soon!"

"We will, Mrs. Featherstone," Ray said. "We're leaving shortly. Goodbye. And err, goodbye, Jane."

A final merow.

Ray ran a hand over his face as he put his phone away. "I wasn't expecting _that,_" he said.

Jim turned away, but not before Coley saw he was smiling in entertainment. Someone else in the room snickered. Coley rolled his eyes.

"Wow, is she one of those crazy cat ladies people talk about?" Lafe exclaimed.

"She's a real nice lady," Coley returned. "Sure, she loves her cat. And she's got one of the smartest cats around. It makes sense that she wouldn't see anything weird about talking to her on the phone." That said, he was feeling rather embarrassed himself.

"Okay then," Lafe said slowly.

He perked up as he noticed Ray taking out the car keys from his pocket. "Are we going back now?" he asked.

"I think so," Ray said. "We know the others are going to be alright. And it's late; it's going to be busy later on."

Coley grunted. "I bet." And he figured Ray probably also wanted to escape the amused people in the waiting room.

"Mr. Gordon can drive himself and Mr. West back to the club," Ray added. "They came here in another car."

"Weird to think of Gordon driving," Lafe remarked. "Are you going to learn how to do that, Coley?"

"Yeah, I probably will," Coley said. "But I'd rather have a motorcycle instead of a car."

"A motor . . . what?" Lafe blinked.

"There's one in the parking lot," Coley said. "I'll show you when we go out."

Lafe nodded. "Oh . . . and Coley?"

Coley looked over. "Yeah?"

Lafe shifted. "I've decided. . . . I'm going to go back with West and Gordon."

Something unreadable flickered in Coley's eyes—perhaps disappointment. "For good?"

"I don't know," Lafe admitted. "I have to go for that meeting, you know. I wouldn't feel right to stay away from that. I want to see if everyone else makes it in. And I'll tell them about you, I promise I will. But I can't promise they'll understand or accept it. As for me, though . . ." He smiled. "I'll think about your offer. And maybe I'll be back."

Coley smiled too. "That's all I asked, for you to think about it. But even if you don't want to work at the golf club, you're always welcome to visit."

Lafe grinned. "Then I'll definitely be back."

"Are you planning to stay over Christmas, at least?" Ray asked. "I invited Mr. West and Mr. Gordon to stay past Christmas. Then they plan to hurry back and find out if there's any news from Colonel Richmond about Coley's immunity."

Coley nodded. "I'd like to see my mother before the holidays are over. They said they'd bring her here if it hadn't gone through yet . . . or at all."

"That'll be nice for you and her," Lafe said. "Sure, I'll stay through Christmas."

"Good." Coley smirked. "Ray's planning to have a lot of food."

Lafe perked up. "What kind of food?"

"All kinds," Ray laughed. "The guests at the club have very different tastes."

A hungry twinkle came into Lafe's eye. "Then there's sure to be something I'll like."

"He's not picky," Coley said to Ray. "He'll eat most food."

Ray smiled in amusement.

They headed out into the December night.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes: I fixed up a little plothole in chapters 17 and 18, added a scene in chapter 13, and expanded a scene in chapter 21. This story has been a lot of fun to work with. I'm planning to write supplemental material off and on, and most likely will post it on Livejournal. Thank you to everyone who has been interested!**

**Epilogue**

"I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Pinto leaned in, kissing Lucrece passionately as she returned it. When they moved back, still embracing, a camera flashed.

"And that," Pinto grinned, "must be _the_ picture getting taken."

Arte lowered Ray's camera. "If you'd told me several weeks ago that I'd be attending the wedding of two notorious criminals, and even taking their picture for posterity, I wouldn't have believed it one bit!" he declared.

Lucrece smirked. "And now you have to return to your Colonel Richmond and request that the warrant against me be dropped."

"And I don't know how I'm going to do that, either," Arte sighed, shaking his head. "The truth about not ruining the timeline wouldn't fly with him. I suppose I'll have to go with the angle I used for Coley, that you helped with a matter of national—no, _inter_national—security. The only problem is, unlike Coley, I know you're not planning to abandon your life of crime."

Lucrece shrugged, not countering that statement.

"You'll just have to wait and see," Lucius said from the hospital bed.

He reached and took hold of Lucrece and Pinto's hands as they came down the aisle. "Thank you again, for thinking of me and wanting me to come," he said quietly.

"It's definitely something you're not likely to see again," Pinto quipped, sounding and looking proud. "The marriage of two people from 1874."

The priest had been staring, goggle-eyed, at the strange exchanges. This one nearly made him drop his Bible. "What?!" he cried in disbelief.

Arte froze. "Oh, nothing, nothing," he said with a wave of his hand.

Sergei chomped into an apple. "When is reception?"

"We're not having that part, Sergei," Pinto said. "But we _were_ thinking of a wedding dinner. You'd like that better anyway."

Sergei's eyes gleamed.

"And Mr. Cannon and I are cooking for it," Arte said grandly. "It's going to be fabulous, simply fabulous!"

Jim smiled. It was definitely strange, to be attending and actively participating in this ceremony. But perhaps it was even stranger that they were welcome. It was a flag of truce, on everyone's parts.

As Cyril and Brutus opened the doors to the hospital chapel and stepped out, they nearly walked into Mr. Burger, Mr. Sampson, and another man, who were standing and rather awkwardly waiting nearby.

"Oh, Mr. Gordon," Sampson called when he caught sight of Arte coming out, "do you know where that man called Lafe is? We need to ask him some questions before the trial of that vicious man comes up."

"Oh." Arte paused, also looking awkward. "Well, I'm afraid I don't know if you'll be able to get in touch with him very easily. He's going to have to go away for a while."

"Excuse me, but where will he be going?" Mr. Burger asked in concern. "He realizes he'll need to testify, doesn't he?"

". . . I _believe_ he does," Arte said slowly.

"He goes to meeting," Sergei grunted as he walked out with his apple.

"A meeting?" Mr. Burger repeated. "Where is this?"

"Far," Sergei shrugged.

"Well, maybe we could speak with him and convince him to delay it a while longer," the third man suggested. "Oh, I'm Lieutenant Tragg, by the way."

"Hello, Lieutenant," Arte nodded, occupied.

"You could try," said Sergei.

"How long will this meeting take?" Mr. Burger persisted.

"It could be some time," said Cyril. "He's going to 1874 . . ."

"Ahh, he's been dipping into the wine already!" Arte exclaimed with a nervous grin, hoping he had managed to interrupt Cyril before Mr. Burger heard.

But Mr. Burger definitely heard. _"WHAT?!"_ he cried in utter disbelief.

"I have a suggestion," Jim said calmly as he walked past. "Talk to Mr. Mason about that. He should be able to explain it to you."

"Mason?!" Tragg cried. "Why would he know about it?!"

"This is preposterous!" Sampson burst out, finding his voice. "It's some sort of mockery, a joke!"

"They're all talking about it," the priest gasped to them as he hurried out of the chapel. "Something very strange is going on here. Please excuse me." He brushed past.

"Mr. Mason knows all about it," Jim said over his shoulder. "So does the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. You might try asking them, too."

At the doorway of the chapel, Pinto watched the goings-on and smirked. "Well, that'll keep them going in circles for a while," he said.

"Hopefully we won't regret it," Lucrece mused with a frown.

"Eh, he'd probably have to find out sooner or later anyway." Pinto drew her close.

"This is a day I used to think would never happen," he said softly.

"I used to think it never could," Lucrece admitted.

"Does it feel weird?" Pinto wondered. "Being Mrs. Peter Bowen now?"

Lucrece leaned into him. "No," she said. "Or at least if it does, it's not weird in a bad way. I realized before that it was what I wanted." She kissed him. "Now I have it. I have you. And according to Lucius, we have many years together."

"Good." Pinto returned the kiss. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas." Lucrece held him in her embrace, the ring on her finger glistening under the bright lights.

She was happy.

xxxx

The wedding dinner was a happy and peaceful event in one of Ray's private dining rooms, filled with Frank and Arte's gourmet cooking—and friendly arguing over the best dishes—Sergei going back for four extra helpings, and Cyril demonstrating how to make a flaming dessert. Pinto and Lucrece shared a dance when the meal was over, conscious of the others present but focusing only on each other.

"Ahh, you know, Jim, it's a pity we didn't know any girls to bring," Arte mused as he leaned back and watched.

"Maybe next time, Arte," Jim smiled in a bit of amusement. Although he certainly couldn't deny it would have been nice.

"I suppose we could go get Mrs. Featherstone and Jane," Arte went on. "Do you suppose she knows how to waltz?"

"Mrs. Featherstone or Jane?" Jim deadpanned.

"Why, Jane, of course," said Arte. "You said she was checking up on me after I got my brains scrambled in that explosion."

"Yes, but somehow I think that if she could waltz, she'd have Mr. Norman and Rodman fill up her dance card," Jim said, still keeping a straight face.

"Well, she should give a charming soul like me a chance too," Arte said.

Jim leaned back, enjoying the utter ridiculousness of the exchange. Soon they would most likely be on another assignment again, which was fine with him, but right now he was enjoying the downtime of being with friends and allies in a peaceful setting. It was the most unusual Christmas Eve he had spent, yet it was also proving one of the most enjoyable.

xxxx

The fire crackled in the library, the only light in the room. The shadows, warped from the dancing lights, seemed to move and jump on the walls.

Gathered around the fireplace, on the floor by a low table, were Ray, Coley, Jim, and Arte—the original four friends who had bonded through time-travel—with mugs of hot chocolate among them and the serenity of Christmas music playing softly in the background.

"You know, it's strange," Arte spoke as one song ended and another began. "In the end, it was Dr. Faustina who brought all of us together."

"And Miss Posey's gang," Jim deadpanned. "Even though none of them knew they were doing it."

"I never would have thought that Cyril's ghastly explosion outside Justice would eventually lead to this," Arte said. "Never in a million years."

"And I never would've thought it'd lead to me going straight, and having at least one place to do it," Coley said.

"I never would have imagined it would lead to me being able to shed the reclusive nature I had taken on," Ray said.

"And who would have thought that Pinto and Miss Posey would ever get married?" Arte shook his head. "Not me. Not until she thought he'd been killed on Mt. San Antonio and I heard her screaming for him."

"Snakes has finally proven his worth," Jim mused.

"And even Lafe is thinking about going straight," Coley added.

"Where is Lafe, anyway?" Arte wondered.

Coley smirked a bit. "He got cornered by Mrs. Featherstone on her way to a Christmas Eve bridge game."

"Ohh dear," Arte said.

"He'll be along," Coley said.

"And I'll welcome him in," Ray said. "It's nice to have a peaceful hour in the library again. We used to meet here all the time the last time you were here, Mr. West, Mr. Gordon. But we've barely had any chance to relax all weekend, or at all on this visit, until now."

"We'll have to see that it happens more often," Arte said. "Jim and I will certainly be dropping in for more visits."

Jim nodded. "Whenever we can get away."

"I hope it won't be too long until the next one," Ray said wistfully. "I know you're bound to be busy when you go back."

"Well, one way or another, we'll be back in the next couple of days after Christmas," Arte said. "Either bringing news of Coley's immunity or bringing Mrs. Rodman here for the rest of the holidays."

"And either way is great with me," Coley said.

He also knew that Ray was happy about some news relating to his own parental situation. Ray had called home again earlier that day and had had a long talk with both his parents. This time they had told him they would come there to visit him for the holidays. They would be arriving in the morning. Coley hoped the visit would prove cleansing and revitalizing for all of them. If there was any trouble, he was more than prepared to give them the talking-to he had already been planning.

A knock on the door brought their attention up. It cracked open, revealing a hesitant Lafe in the corridor outside. "Is this a private party or is there still an opening?"

Coley stood, going to his other close friend. "It's open to you," he said. "Come on in here, Lafe."

Jim and Arte moved over, allowing room for another. Ray smiled as Coley came over with Lafe and settled down. "There's plenty of hot chocolate, if you want some," he said, indicating the kettle and another mug.

Lafe sat down, pouring himself some of the toasty liquid. He looked around at the others, surprised by how welcome he felt. He was not intruding on the friendship Coley had with Ray; they wanted him to be there with them, partaking in the friendship as well. They had kept this other mug on the table, for him. And the Secret Service men, of all people, were also welcome and welcoming.

This would be a pleasant life after all, he decided.

Maybe, even if the other gang members didn't want to try, he _would_ come back—not just for a visit, but to stay and work.

"It's midnight again," Ray commented.

"Twenty-four hours since THRUSH planned to blow up the world," Jim intoned.

"Why in the world did they, or Blackburn, or whoever, want to use the golf club as a drop, anyway?" Arte wondered.

"Probably because it was near the _Hollywood Dream_," Jim said, "but far enough away so as not to attract suspicion."

"Probably," Coley grunted in agreement. "Oh, Ray, do you know what's going to happen to the Stones?"

Ray sighed. "Well, they'll have to stand trial, of course, but I talked to Mr. Burger and he's willing to greatly reduce their sentences if they turn state's evidence."

"That's good," Arte said. "After all, they apparently were forced to participate with the threat of your murder hanging over their heads."

"How did they get involved anyway?" Lafe wondered.

Ray half-smiled. "Mr. Stone said it was because of all the jewelry his wife carries," he said wryly. "THRUSH got the idea to hide some of the final components for their device in fake jewelry and for Mrs. Stone to smuggle it in for the pick-up.

"By the way, speaking of Mr. Burger . . ." He raised an eyebrow. "He was saying something about some drunk Turk claiming Lafe had to go back to the 1870s."

Arte colored. "Yes, I'm afraid Cyril blurted that bit of the truth when we were being pressed for answers on Lafe's whereabouts, since Lafe will be wanted for testifying."

"Did he talk to Perry Mason?" Jim queried.

"I don't think he'd managed to catch Mr. Mason yet," Ray said. "But he was very disturbed. I'm afraid what bothered him the most is the thought that he'll have to accept that something else strange is real."

"Oh dear. Poor Mr. Burger." Arte poured himself some more hot chocolate. "Well, I hope it won't spoil his holiday."

"He'll probably try to put it out of his mind for as long as he can," Ray replied.

Coley shrugged. "Whatever works for him."

"Well, anyway, I'm happy to say that Oak Bridge is now once again spy-free," Ray declared with a smile. He raised his mug. "And now it's Christmas Day. Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas!" the others echoed, clinking their mugs together.

"Here's to friendship," Arte added. "May we all meet like this again very soon."

The others thoroughly agreed.


End file.
